Road Rage and Taxi Tales

2008-12-20T21:00:00.005-07:00

Well. I'm still alive, but still don't have Internet at my house. I'm working fulltime in the cab business, but don't really have the energy to post on a regular basis.

Exciting things are happening in the cab world, and hopefully, sometime real soon, I will have the energy and opportunity to write about what's happening.

Thanks for stopping by.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Stayin' Alive

2008-08-30T19:12:00.002-07:00

I want to thank all my loyal readers for their persistence in coming back to this site over and over,even though I haven't posted anything lately.

I'm doing fairly well physically, in that I have a complete diagnosis and treatment plan. However, my finances are completely in the dumper (also known as the toilet, crapper, sh*tter, and porcelain pie-catcher [that last one is my invention]). It's been a long slow road to catch up on my rent. Maybe someday soon I'll be able to afford an Internet hookup in my house. Until then, again, thank you all for your support.

By the way, don't wait - go see your doctor as soon as you feel "under the weather." He or she probably misses you, and it could save your life.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Why I've Been Absent, Part Two

2008-04-13T03:00:00.005-07:00

As I said at the end of "Why I've Been Absent, Part One" on February 9 of this year my life took an abrupt turn. My health began to fail me. It started with a cough. And went downhill from there...

I was down with the flu for ten days. Then I worked for a couple of days, and went down with a really bad cold. Which apparently turned into "walking pneumonia." The cherry on this little cake? I went functionally deaf for about two weeks. More time in bed. Working fewer hours when I did take a cab out. Ignoring the signs of impending disaster...

Because I don't have health insurance (a stupid situation, because I could have afforded it, as it would have cost less than my smoking habit, which by the way ended on February 9), I kept putting off seeing a doctor until March 13. At that time I was treated for the pneumonia. And told I had very high blood pressure. So high that I should have been immediately referred to an Emergency Room. But all the doctor said was, "You might want to have that looked at." No urgency was attached to the situation. I figured I'd save up some money and come back when I could afford to. Later on, a friend of mine told me I couldn't afford to wait, I needed to get treatment immediately, that the doctor should have insisted I go to an ER immediately.

But I waited. Five days later, suffering from extreme "blahs" and continual mild to moderate headaches, I finally decided to go to the local Emergency Room. Even at this point I dragged my feet. I worked most of a shift, dropped my cab off, got in my car, and went to Del Taco for dinner. Well, why not? It was "Taco Tuesday", three for a dollar. I ate half-a-dozen, and washed them down with a large Mountain Dew.

After dinner, my plan was to go home, and put together a few things I would want in case I was admitted. You know, things like books, toiletries, a few pairs of underwear and socks, pajamas, and my cellphone charger. Another plan thwarted
by the vagaries of life. Given the route I take home, my apartment is only about a quarter of a mile past the hospital. I never made it.

On the way home, I developed a very bad headache, shortness of breath, nausea and blurry vision. I decided to skip home, and go right to the ER. I guess I didn't say the right things to the receptionist, because I had to wait about forty-five minutes to see the triage nurse. I guess collapsing to my knees in front of her didn't convey any urgency. To be fair, since I couldn't hear what she was saying over the noise in the lobby (still functionally deaf at this point), I took the contact form from her to fill it out. She may have thought I went to my knees to be level with her desk, making it easier for me to fill out the form.

My friend Dean said that rather than standing up and going to a chair to wait, I should have just clutched my chest and laid down on the floor. He says this puts you to the head of the line every time. That's good to know, just for future reference. But I didn't think of doing something like that. So I took as seat, alternately crying, moaning and holding my head, praying I would hear my name called over the bedlam in the waiting room.

I found out later that a forty-five minute wait was relatively short. When I was called back by the nurse, the first thing she did was take my blood pressure. Which was so high that she went into overdrive. Within minutes I had an IV line in place, and serious blood pressure meds were being pumped into me.

Was I scared? Sure for about two minutes, which was how long it took for the nurse to get a syringe of morphine from the drug locker, hook it up to the IV, and squirt it into me. And about four seconds more for the morphine to take effect.

Once in my brain, the morphine instantly erased the pain, and filled me with an incredible sense of euphoria, well-being, and a complete disregard for the seriousness of my situation. I reverted to form and started telling taxi jokes, which were well received. Then I told a couple of morphine jokes which really cracked the nurses up. Actually, they're funny riddles. Here they are:

Question: What's the dumbest a nurse can ask? Answer: Would you like some morphine for the pain?

Question: What's the second dumbest question a nurse can ask? Answer: Would you like some more morphine?

This was my answer to the first question: "Sure would."

This was my answer to the second question: "Why wouldn't I?"

When asked the second question a second time, this is what I said: "You know, a good bartender doesn't ask questions. She just keeps the drinks coming."

Actually, I didn't say that out loud. But I was thinking it. She must have been a mind reader, 'cause she poured me another, and just kept them coming.

So, I was in the ER for a few hours while a bunch of tests were done. After a while a doctor came over to talk to me. "Cab Guy," he says, "In addition to severe hypertension, you are suffering from acute kidney failure. You're down to about 15% of normal renal function."

Which is devastating news. Or would have been if I wasn't juiced up on morphine. This is the beauty of morphine: when administered as a clinical dose calculated to ease pain, it leaves me lucid and completely aware of my situation. But calm. Very calm. It should have pained me to hear his words. But pain is pain, even if it's emotional. And morphine eases pain...

Looking him straight in the eye, I said, "Hmm... well I'm not surprised!" I could tell that this response was unexpected and shocking to him. The conversation continued:

"Doesn't this bother you?"

"I'm sure it will later, Doctor, after I sober up!"

"But you haven't been drinking!"

"And that's the beauty of morphine, Sir! After it wears off I'll worry about my condition. Right now I trust you'll fix me up."

Or words to that effect.

Shortly thereafter that I had my own private room. In the Intensive Care Unit. Where I laid flat on my back for the next five days. Mostly deaf. Hooked up to an IV tower with a continual infusion of blood pressure and kidney medications. And morphine, at least for the first day or two. But I didn't care, because I had constant care from a whole series of nurses. Who were all very friendly, competent and compassionate.

Who ran the gamut from very attractive to smokin' hot. Except for Steve, who I'm sure most women would have found to be attractive, but didn't do a thing for me. But he was a friendly guy who laughed at my jokes, so he was okay in my book.

Pretty nurses, a comfortable bed, and morphine. What more could a Cab Guy want?

To be continued...

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Why I've Been Absent, Part One

2008-04-12T23:45:00.003-07:00

Thank you to all my loyal reader and new visitors for your patience with my progress here at RRTT. Allow me to explain why I haven't been too active lately.

When I first started this blog, it was my goal to post a new entry at least three or four times a week, to give people a taste of what the cab business is like from my point of view. However, I generally had something to say almost every day, and had a lot of fun saying it. Having been in the business for almost ten years, I had a tremendous store of stories and anecdotes, and of course gained new stories all the time.

I don't know about you, but my experience has shown that no matter what my plans are, my life doesn't always follow my plan. Which is okay, because I've learned to enjoy the surprise twist and turns of the human experience. Around about the first of December, 2007 I have run into a whole series of twists and turns. Unfortunately most of them were of the negative variety. Which doesn't worry me, because I love a challenge.

The first challenge was financial, which in some of my earlier posts I discussed how things in the industry were affecting my bottom line, and therefore my wallet. The impact of this challenge on RRTT was I couldn't afford my Internet connection. I attempted to overcome this but writing some articles, copying them to a CD-ROM, and going to Kinko's/Fed-Ex, and renting a computer to upload the articles. This worked for a little while.

And then my computer decided to have a stoke, which I haven't been able to have repaired yet. It should be a simple fix, but alas, it is not. What happened is that there is a small battery in the computer, which powers the real time clock, and apparently the On/Off circuitry. Even when the computer, which is a notebook, has a full battery, or is plugged into AC, it won't start. It's a really good computer, which I got from Fry's Electronics, a reputable company. I've had it for several years, so the warranty has expired, which is unfortunate, because the whole battery issue is the result of what I think is a curious design flaw.

If you're thinking, "Hey Cab Guy, why don't you just replace the damn battery and be done with it, and start posting more stories?" I completely understand. I mean, it's a watch battery costing no more that $10.00 (American). It shouldn't be a problem. And it shouldn't be. But there's that curious design flaw...

You see the battery is easily accessed by lifting the keyboard up. However, rather than being connected to the computer through a socket, it is inside a shrink-wrapped envelope, with power leads that are then plugged into the motherboard. I actually like this design, for two reasons. First, were the battery to leak or corrode, the plastic envelope would protect the computer from damage. Second, because there is no socket, any battery of the proper voltage that would fit inside the computer could be utilized, making replacement fairly simple, even if a battery of the original size couldn't be found.

But here's the rub: the power leads plug into the motherboard deeper inside the chassis, and I haven't been able to figure out how to disassemble it to access the plug-in. I am hesitant to just cut the battery off the leads and splice a new one on, and I can afford to have a techie geek fix the problem.

So I haven't been able to do much writing, either for RRTT or www.DiscoBisquit.blogspot.com, which is very frustrating to me. I have things to say, and I want to say them, just for the satisfaction of knowing that some people want to hear me ramble.

So... just about the time that me finances started to improve, life to an abrupt turn...

To be continued...

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

The Problems Continue

2008-02-26T17:15:00.005-07:00

Still having connectivity problems. Thanks for you patience... keep checking back here every once in a while.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Problems, Problems, Problems

2008-01-17T13:31:00.001-07:00

I'm still having computer and internet service issues. I probably won't have this site up again full-time before March 1, 2008.

Thanks for checking in. I am still writing stories, just not having much opportunity to post them.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

2007-12-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

Hi. Thanks for coming here. I'm having computer problems, will continue posting and keeping you informed of new site updates when I resolve these issues.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

My New Website

2007-12-19T05:45:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I'm not posting as often as I used to. My November 18, 2007post gave a partial explanation: lack of energy.

But I'm also working on a new website. Let me tell you what's going on.

Some of you know that I have at least one other blog. It's named "Disco Bisquit," and it's where I post my fiction stories.

So what's a Disco Bisquit? It's a "hit" (dose) of the designer drug "Ecstasy." So why did I choose that name for my site? Because I get a feeling of ecstasy every time I finish one of my fiction stories, and every time someone reads one.

I know... it's a dumb reason. But, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Johnny Wraith has advised me all along to combine the two sites. I've finally taken the plunge, and have been working feverishly on the debut. Meanwhile, since time is limited, something has to give. The "something" is my post frequency.

I plan to debut the new site around the middle of January. I don't expect to put up too many new posts at either RR&TT or DB between now and then. As a matter of fact, it's probably not worth checking here for new updates more than once a week. For a while after the new site is "up," I'll "clone" any new posts or stories at the old and new sites. Eventually, all new content will appear exclusively at the new site.

I'm really excited about the potential of the new site. It will be more than just a blog. Different types of stories will appear in different forums. There will also a general discussion forums, and I'll plan to allow some of you to moderate your own forums (send me an e-mail if interested). I'm leaving room for expansion, such as a store, among other things.

Although the new site is already web-accessible, I don't want to reveal the name of it just yet. When I'm ready to debut it, I'll let you know. Meanwhile, if you want to get a general idea of the "look and feel," check out "Johnny Wraith Stories" (linked at 'Web Favorites' box on sidebar). Both his site and my new one use the same web design toolset and templates, the DoodleKit, by DoodleBit.

If you get a chance, you might want to check out DoodleBit.Com. They offer free web-hosting, and access to the DoodleKit, to allow you to create your own professional website.

Don't get me wrong: I really like Google Blogger. But I absolutely love DoodleBit's DoodleKit.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Lack of New Posts Explained; and Cab Cheats: Part Three

2007-12-18T23:45:00.000-07:00

Thank you to all of my loyal visits who have helped support me blog. Over the last two weeks or so, my activity has dropped precipitously; here's why. Also, the explanation of the final "cab cheat," known as "ghosting."

Since late November, a lot of thing have happened in my life, which have all combined (substitute "conspired" if you like conspiracy theories) to interfere with my life to the extent that providing new content on this site has had to move all the way to the back of the bus.

As I wrote on November 28, 2007 (Cab Guy Jumps Ship) I had problems with XZY Cab company to the extent that I left them and moved to ABC (both XZY and ABC are aliases, if you're new to this site); I got hired immediately, but didn't actually begin driving until December 9, 2007 (my choice).

Around about this time, I took a couple of days off to visit Johnny Wraith in Tucson (to learn more about Johnny, click the following links on the sidebar: "Legal Disclaimer" (in 'Critical Info' box), and "Disco Bisquit" or "Johnny Wraith Stories" (in 'Web Favorites' box). Bracketing my visit with Johnny, I took off several days of before and after the visit, which is why I didn't actually get back into a cab until December 9.

Well... then the Fit hit the Shan (the punchline to one of my Mom's old jokes... sorry).

On December 9, ABC Cab Company transitioned to a whole new dispatching system, including all new (and way more complex) computer terminals in the cabs, new radio protocols, new zone maps, new message codes, etc. Needless to say, having to learn a whole new system has been a challenge. It's a radically different system; you'd probably have to be in the 'cab world' to understand just how revolutionary, and challenging, a new zone map is, let alone all the other stuff.

Mind you, I'm not complaining. In my decade in this business, I've had to deal with many other evolutionary changes in dispatching. It's just that this one has so many changes over so many dimensions that it is literally a radical, revolutionary change. I have to use up so much mental energy to learn it all, at the same time that I'm trying to make a living. I'm not on "autopilot" yet, and when I come home, the last thing I can really do is keep up with this blog.

Okay, so I've got my excuse for not posting out of the way. Now on to "ghosting."

I have told the "ghosting cheat" story to many, many people, both in the cab business, and outside of it. Those in the business get it right away, because the technical details are a part of their way of life. It's the technical details that cause the 'civilians' to look at me as if they wished I would just STFU. Even though they had asked me to explain it to them!

So it's taken me quite a while to figure out the bare-bones details needed to tell the story, so that the average person with just a passing interest in this cab cheat could grasp it's impact. Let me give it a go:

Fully automated computer-based dispatch systems generally rely on a GPS antenna in the cab, hooked up to the communication system, to report the current location of each cab. This is to enable the system to appropriately match calls to cabs.
Calls that are not yet matched to a cab fall into two broad categories: a: Pending (match only to a cab within the zone, or a certain radius of the pick-up address), and Bid-Available (send to any cab that bids, or asks, for the call, regardless of where the cab is). With both ABC and XYZ companies, a call will remain 'Pending' for about five minutes. During this period, the computer will attempt to match the call to a cab (either in the zone the call is in, or out to a certain distance from the pick-up). If a call is unmatched after five minutes, then the call is displayed on a "bid screen." Now cabs can bid on a call; at the same time the computer will continue to attempt a match (checking to see if cabs move into the zzone, or within the radius), in case no one bids on it right away.
If a driver "ghosts" his cab, he can trick the computer into thinking he is eligible for a Pending call when, in reality, he isn't. (He does this by "telling" the computer where he wants the computer to think he is, as opposed to where he really is.) By doing this, a ghost driver "gets the jump" on the bidding process. Since bidding is "first come, first served," anyone willing to do this will create a HUGE unfair advantage for himself. His average wait time between calls will go down, allowing him to do more calls per shift. More calls equals more income.
XYZ company threatened to fire me for merely confirming that I could ghost my cab. I did not take any calls during this short experiment. But I was able to trick the computer as to my location, and it did offer me calls that were not yet available to the whole fleet. My friend Dean C. (to whom I taught the method) did take a couple of calls this way, but after his experiment, told me he wouldn't do it anymore. It didn't matter. He was fired because he would neither admit to, nor apologize for his actions when company management challenged him.
Company management said they were firing all of the people they caught ghosting. I was spared because I all I did was confirm the rumor about how it worked. If I had taken any calls this way, I would have been fired too.
However, the same day Dean C. was canned, along with seven others, at least ten other drivers (excluding those fired) were doing it (the explanation is just too arcane; take my word for it: I didn't guess they were doing it - my computer terminal showed me that it was happening). The next day, the day I quit, at least twelve cabs were actively ghosting. Another XYZ cabbie, a friend of Dean C., was taught how to interpret the data on his cab terminal to see if there are any ghosts. To this day, every time Dean asks him, he reports not less than twelve active ghosts.

So the company isn't firing all ghosts. Just the one's who aren't on the special "feed" list. Who keeps the list? Who knows.

I think I know who several of the ghosts are, though. I usually would book about $300.00 worth of business in a twelve hour shift. This is about 25 to 40 percent more than the average driver (what can I say? My email says it all: "SuperCabbie@gmail.com! My suspected ghosts all consistently brag about booking in excess of what amounts to 80 to 100 percent more than the average.

How do they do it? I'm pretty sure they're probably ghosting. The dirty, rotten scumbags.

And the managers letting them do it? They're dirty, rotten scumbags, too. But since each driver is contracted the same as any other, it can be argued that to have management favor one group over another is a fradulent business practice. The type of fraud that is criminal, not just civil. With prison as a penalty if caught.

So I feel justified in referring to these managers as dirty, rotten, scumbag CRIMINALS!

I can't work with or for people like this. Could you?

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

You want to do what?

2007-12-13T20:30:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been extremely busy in my real life, not to mention the cab world, so I haven't been able to finish my "Cab Cheats" series. This ought to tide you over.

The other day I went to a very nice house to do a pickup. A young couple came out of the house and got in the cab. They gave me the address of their destination, I dropped the meter, and off we went. They immediately started making out in the back seat.

After about five minutes, the guy comes up for air, and asks,

"Hey, if I gave you an extra hundred dollars, could we have sex in the back seat?"

I thought about it for a few seconds, and then said,

"Well, okay... but your girlfriend will have to drive!"

Don't get me wrong, I'm not gay. Just a working man trying to make some extra dough.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Cab Cheats Part Two - Feeding

2007-12-08T19:45:00.000-07:00

Supposedly, all cab drivers within a particular company are supposed to be working on an even playing field, with all having equal access to calls for service offered by the company. However, in some cases, in some companies, some drivers have a higher earning potential because of a scam known as "feeding."

Feeding is generally defined as a driver being given a call by a dispatcher (or other cab company employee) in a manner other than receiving it through normal methods. It may or not be the result of collusion between the driver and dispatcher, and may or may not result in the dispatcher being "paid off" by the benefiting driver. To understand how the feeding process works, it helps to understand how the "standard" dispatching system works.

At my old cab company, XYZ, and my new cab company, ABC, calls for service are dispatched by a computerized call-to-cab matching system. Each cab has a computer terminal in it, connected to the company's host computer through a radio-modem system. The cab terminal has a GPS antenna, to provide a real time position report to the host computer of where each cab is located. This information is used to determine which cab gets which of the calls that may be available.

Although XZY and ABC use the same basic equipment and software, there are some differences. XYZ uses GPS-based matching, where a call is matched to the closest cab; ABC uses Zone-based matching, where a call is matched to the first cab "up" in the zone the call originates in. Both systems have their advantages and disadvantages. I've worked under both systems, and don't really have a preference of one over the other.

In theory, after calls are entered into the computer system by customer service representatives, the host computer handles the actual dispatching of the calls. However, there is a human operator to oversee the system, and to communicate with the drivers regarding the status of the system.

For example, a call may come up in a zone that does not have any cabs in it, or in any adjacent zones. If the dispatcher left the system to it's own devices, the call might never get covered, because a cab might never match to it, or bid on it. At this point the dispatcher might "advertise" the call, to induce a cabbie to cover it.

For example, the dispatcher might send a fleet-wide message saying something like, "The call in zone 233 has wings!" meaning the party wants to go to the airport. This message should generate interest among the drivers, leading one or more of them to bid on the call, thereby maintaining an adequate level of customer service.

However, rather than sending a fleet-wide message, the dispatcher might send the same message to a select driver, allowing only that driver to have the extra information about the call. Moving one step further along, the dispatcher might just override the matching system, and send the call directly to a particular cab. This is the genesis of "feeding."

Even at this stage, the feeding might be relatively benign. The dispatcher may just be sending the message or call to the closest cab, not a co-conspirator; in a future similar circumstance, another cab may be closer, and it's driver will be favored. The motivation of the dispatcher in this type of case is not to favor a particular driver, or group of drivers, but to favor the customer, and get the call covered. Or, maybe, just get the call covered so he can go smoke a cigarette.

Even though a particular driver isn't being favored, this activity is usually frowned on by everyone involved, simply because it looks subversive. It's generally best to advertise calls, and let the cabbies, through the bidding process, cover the calls based on their own decisions.

The type of feeding that I described above was going on at XYZ company. I know it was happening, because over the period of time that I was there, I was sent calls directly from the dispatcher. I could tell this, because calls dispatched in this fashion were labeled as "Personal" on my cab terminal. The odd thing is, in many of these cases, I would have matched to the calls, if the dispatcher had allowed the computer to do it's job. And here's what confused me the most: while some of the calls were bigger than average, I was never approached by a dispatcher to pay a "commission" for the benefit of being sent the calls. What was the motivation here? I'll never know.

As far as I know, this type of feeding is not allowed at ABC company. Apparently, management thinks it best to avoid the appearance of evil, and just let the matching system do the job. If particular calls aren't getting covered, the dispatchers advertise them, and allow the drivers to decide if they want to go after any particular call. This may tend to degrade customer service in some outlying geographic areas, but does maintain the integrity of the entire system.

Meanwhile, back at XYZ, the feeding continues. Certain dispatchers have made it know that they can be "bought." I never had a dispatcher approach me to pay him a "commission" to get better calls, but I know it goes on. The driver manager himself confirmed this to me. He told me that the "fee" varied from dispatcher to dispatcher involved, from a few dollars a week, to a fixed percentage, like 10% of the value of all "fed" calls. According to this manager, whenever he caught a driver or dispatcher involved in feeding, he would fire them. It seems to me he couldn't fire them quick enough, because the feeding never stopped.

And it isn't just dispatchers who can feed calls. Customer service representatives who actually talk to the customers, and enter call data into the system, can also get into the act. One way a CSR can do this is to take the order from the customer, and appear to enter into the system. However, rather than submitting the data to the system, the CSR can send a cellular text message to a particular cabbie, detailing the call, and then delete the call from the system.

As a matter of fact, in this circumstance, the favored cabbie doesn't even have to work for XYZ. Because XYZ has so many "brands," most customers wouldn't even think to question the name on the side of the cab. They're just satisfied to get their cab. The company might never notice what's going on, because as long as the "call" is covered, the customer is never going to complain about what happened.

But, every once in a while, something does go wrong, and the customer calls back to ask, "Where's my cab?" But in these circumstances, it's just assumed that there was a "glitch" in the system. The customer is then told that no record of their call can be found, but that a cab would be sent to them as quickly as possible.

I know that this type of feeding was going on, because a former employee of the XYZ company, who was a CSR, saw it happen, and gave the details to another cabbie friend of mine. This person told my friend that she could not believe the number of times people would call for a cab to take them to Tucson, Las Vegas, or Los Angeles. Calls like this could be worth literally hundreds of dollars to the driver. She said that in almost all the of the cases that she witnessed, the call never got into the computer system. Someone, somewhere in the company, would "hijack" the calls, and send them to their favorite cabbies.

Not really fair is it? All drivers paying the same amount for the use of a cab, but some drivers, being singled out to get better calls, and make more money with less effort.

Well, I never thought that life was fair. Until I found out about the feeding, i just never realized how unfair it could be in the cab world. Guess that makes me kind of a naive sonuvabitch.

But an honest sonuvabitch.

The next installment of "Cab Cheats" will detail how "Ghosting" works.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Hiatus From Posting

2007-12-07T05:15:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've been distracted by the everyday minutiae of life, so I haven't kept up with this blog in the manner I'd like, which is to post something every day.

Do not fear, I'm still here, and will be returning to a normal schedule real soon. Please bear with me. I hope to continue my series of "Cab Cheat" posts either tonight (Friday, December 7) or tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I thank you all for your faithfulness.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Cab Cheats Part One - Background

2007-12-03T19:45:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a few days coming, but I finally feel prepared to explain in some detail the reason I left my old cab company ("XYZ"), and decided to go to work for another company ("ABC").

Today, I'll provide some essential background, and name the offending scams my old cab company allowed to happen. Future posts will detail how the offending scams worked.

I spend the weekend with my friend, Johnny Wraith, who is a lawyer, and a very good one at that, my accusations that he is an alcoholic notwithstanding. We discussed the issues, and how they should be explained, for the purposes of maximum revelation, and minimum likelihood of being sued.

Having previously worked in the Law Enforcement/Criminal Justice field from 1981 through 1997, I was aware that the truth is an absolute defense in any lawsuit accusing a person of slandering or libeling another person, and was prepared to name names, and let the chips fall where they may.

Johnny reminded me that while the truth is an absolute defense against a lawsuit being successful, it does not protect one from being sued in the first place. The cost of defending the suit could be staggering, even if judgement was not granted to the plaintiff (say a cab company) against the defendant (say, Yours Truly, The Cab Guy). He further went on to point out that usually this was of concern only to people with substantial assets, or any assets at all.

Well, since I don't have substantial assets, my estate consisting of some personal property (furniture, computer, a television and stereo system, assorted books, CDs, and DVDs and the like), the few dollars I've managed to save, and my car, I felt relatively safe from retribution via a lawsuit.

However, the hassles of being sued are not negligible. Also, Johnny went on to point out that although I was relatively "poor" at this point in my life, I was not always so, and probably would not be so again in the future. For all of these reasons, and because it really doesn't add to my readers' understanding of what goes on in the taxi business, I have decided to refrain from naming names.

The miscreants who might happen to read my blog will recognize who they are, but will be unable to do anything about it. Anyone involved in the Phoenix Metro Area taxi industry will also know who they are, and may or not take pleasure in the knowledge that what they suspected was going on all along really is in fact happening. They may also take steps to protect themselves from being cheated.

Some additional background is necessary. I have worked in the taxi industry since approximately December 1, 1998, through the present. (NOT 1997, as I have stated elsewhere in this blog; I apologize for that error). I started with "XYZ" cab company, and stayed with them through late May of 2001. I became fed up with some of the practices at XYZ, and so moved on to "ABC" cab company.

I stayed on with ABC company for somewhat more than six years. Over time, some management and policy changes led to my gradual dissatisfaction with ABC. I heard that things had improved at XYZ, so after considering the situation for several months, I went back to XYZ.

In some ways, I was glad of the change, and in others, I wasn't so happy. Last week my nose was thrust, like that of a puppy into his own mess, into the truth of what was going on at XYZ. I quit them, after being threatened with termination, and returned to ABC. S why did I go back to ABC? Well, I was only dissatisfied with their policies; I wasn't being cheated by them.

Do you follow me so far? I know it can seem kind of convoluted, but if you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that I suffer from verbal diarrhea, and a love of excess detail.

So what were the offending scams?

Those of you in the cab community have already guessed that they probably relate to "feeding," in one form or another. Anyone who had this as their guess is correct. Feeding was going on at XYZ Cab Company. What surprised me was how many variations on this basic theme there were, running from a fairly passive form to a very active form of corruption.

For those of you not in the know, "feeding" occurs when a call is given to a driver in a manner that circumvents the normal dispatch system. It may or may not result in any overall benefit to the receiving driver, or the dispatcher (or any other company employee involved).

In it's most benign form, a driver may be "fed" a call to which he would have ordinarily been "matched." However, due to system operating parameters, the matching might not have occurred for several minutes. The motivation for the dispatcher to "feed" the call may be to get it off of "pending" status into "assigned" status, resulting in quicker service to the customer. Or the dispatcher may have just wanted to take a cigarette break, and needed to "clear his board" before doing so.

So, if there was no net benefit to the driver, or the dispatcher, and the customer got his cab quicker, what's the problem? I guess there wouldn't be a problem, if that's a far as it went. But corruption, even if relatively minor, is like rust: if unchecked, it eventually spreads, creating all sorts of havoc and destruction.

In subsequent posts, I'll detail some other more egregious examples of feeding, which provide tangible benefits to the driver and dispatcher (or other company employee) involved, to the detriment of other drivers, and even the customers that the cab company serves.

I can't resist giving you a little teaser about the offense for which I was almost terminated. It's called "ghosting" (also "cloaking", "hooding", or "stealthing"). Frankly, after learning how ghosting works, I came to see it as an ingenious method by which the "ghost cabbie" feeds himself, bypassing the need to directly involve a dispatcher, or anyone else!

Stay tuned for more details. I'm pissed, and want the world to know it!

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Post Updates: Steffan and Danielle

2007-12-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

I wanted to provide some updated information on a few recent posts. And futher delay the time until I fully explain what actually happened to cause me to leave my old cab company.

On November 5, 2007, I wrote a story I called "Steffan's Walk," about a young man, Steffan, who is walking across the country, California to Georgia, to raise money in the fight against cancer. Before Steffan and I parted ways, he gave me the name of a website that would have been going up soon, "SteffansWalk.Org", to promote his efforts. So far, the site is not active, nor have I heard from Steffan on my email.

Steffan, if you're out there, Godspeed to you, friend. Be careful. I do think about you every day. If you ever read this, get hold of me, and let me know how you're doing.

On November 10, I wrote a post called Date a Hot Phoenix Stripper. I followed it up the next day with the post, Danielle's Dilemma. These posts detailed my efforts to help Danielle, a stripper, meet some nice guys, and choose one or more to date. So far, there have been zero responses. I guess I can't blame anyone if they thought it was a scam. Hell, here I am reading the posts two weeks later, and if I didn't know I had written them, I'd think they were part of a scam.

So anyway, I'll have to report to Danielle that the effort failed. If anyone still wants to enter the "contest" described in the November 10 post, be my guest. I'll just pass along the emails to Danielle.

Danielle, I'm sorry I let you down. If there are any nice guys out there, The Cab Guy couldn't find them!

However, a cabbie that I know, Drake Gustave, wants to meet you. If you're interested, leave me a message on my email, and I'll pass it along to Drake. You're on your own after that. I wouldn't classify him as a 'Nice Guy.' Oh, he's not abusive or anything, anymore, but he's a cabie, for pity's sake, and you know how those guys are! His idea of Haute Cuisine is the drive-thru at Taco Bell. And he doesn't order individual items. He just gets it by the pound.

Also, please be advised: he's a heavy drinker. And not the good stuff either. But he is a cabdriver, so he's got that going for him. As long as him company doesn't find out about his long history of DUI.

What the hell, take a chance girl! I say give a cabbie some love! You've got a great window of opportunity right now. His wife is in Romania, visiting with family. Play your cards right, and she'll come home to a divorce, and you'll come home to... a new home. Of course, it's way out in Apache Junction, but I'm sure you'll be able to find work. Not the kind that has any dignity, but work, nonetheless.

Just don't tell me all the sordid details. I'd feel honor bound to pass them along to my readers.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Livin' On Tucson Time!

2007-12-01T23:45:00.000-07:00

I'm still down in Tucson with my friend Johnny Wraith, but I thought I give you all an update, as well as a reader submission from a Dublin cabbie named Roy.

Well, Johnny and I haven't been doing much beyond drinking, eating, playing chess, and some gambling.

It turns out that Johnny is a great cook. When I first met him, all he could do was run a microwave oven, and make espresso. Prior to my arrival Friday, he put half a turkey breast, some cream of mushroom soup, peppers and other vegetables in a crockpot. It was a very delicious meal, accompanied by flaky bisquits, and some Franzia wine. Okay, sure, Franzia is a boxed wine, but what the hell, drink enough of it, and you won't care at all. I know I didn't.

As to the chess, Johnny used to regularly kick my ass. I've gotten better. He's gotten drunker. I beat him five games to one, and we drew our seventh game. Go Franzia.

As to the gambling? I don't want to talk about it. Although the the casino did buy us all our cigarettes!

And now here's Roy's story. I've left his open comments to me, and his style and formatting intact. Please visit him at his website when you get the chance.

-----

Hi

I've just found your site , great stuff! I've added it to the blogroll and
would appreciate if you could do the same.

Roy

If you use this please credit to www.irishtaxi.net

Naas (35km) and Back! Good......not!

I wasn't planning on working tonight, my wife just got back from her trip to
Chicago and I'd planned to stay in and have a chat, maybe watch a movie, Jet
lag intervened and by 9:30 she was hanging on by a thread, at 10:15 she was
in bed asleep, by 10:45 I had resolved to head out to work, another night
looking at the TV/PC would have done me in.

First job after a week off, was from the rank in St Stepens Green, She was
being held up by him, an inane grin on her face, as we say in Dublin "she
was locked", "out of her bin" , "twisted". I must have been soft after the
week off, because normally I'd have said she needed a walk to sober up first
but I allowed them in..."Naas" he said, Oh shit, I thought, she'll never
last....."Grand" I said, "Naas it is".

She fell asleep instantly and he talked about nothing in particular, there
were a few funny smells emanating, once I thought she'd shat herself, but it
didn't last long enough, thank god!

We arrived in Naas.... €51 paid, checked over her ass and the back seat, no
dampness, so all clear there as well!

While taking the photo above, a lad appeared out of no-where, gave me a
shock! Said he'd had a row with his girlfriend, had gotten out of the car
for a pee and she'd driven off, his wallet and phone were in the car and
would I please bring him into Dublin town. Now I really must be going soft,
because I knew this was a chancer but thought; ah I'm going back anyway, I
ll give the eeegit a lift.

He asked did I believe him? And I said "no not a word, but I'm feeling
generous", he admitted to lying and said he'd just left a party, said he'd
leave a glowing report on his Bebo page, I said "you won't, you'll leave a
glowing report on my Blog, that's the fare!"

I gave him the address on the back of a receipt, I bet he doesn't do it!

-----

I liked Roy's story for at least two reasons: the lady didn't foul his cab, and he took a chance on the 'eeegit'. He's a better man that I am. Don't get me wrong... I'd have given the fellow a ride. It's just that I would have made him ride on the hood. Tied down like a dear I'd just bagged on a hunting trip. Don't worry... I wouldn't have gutted him. But I probably would have rubbed him down with salt.

I'm sorry. Ignore everything after 'He's a better man than I am.' It's the Franzia talking. It overstimulates my imagination. And debilitates my internal censor. But it's a cheap drunk.

Just like me.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Down Time and Weather Report

2007-11-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

I guess technically I should have called this post "Weather Report and Down Time," since I'm going to talk about the weather first, but it's my blog, and I'll do want I want. Plus, I just like the way it sounds.

Right now as I type this post, it is raining. That's right, you read me right. It's RAINING! In Phoenix, Arizona, the good old P to the H to the X and that's the PHX!

This is not "mist" or "drizzle" or the "don't worry you can run between the drops" kind of rain. This is actual, by God, things are getting wet, puddles are forming, "I wish I rolled up my car windows" kind of rain. Sure, by the standards of a lot of places, when it's all done, it won't amount to much.

But rain in Phoenix is special. It's a reaffirmation of life. It makes the air smells fresher and cleaner. It's how cars get washed. It causes the rate of rear-end collisions to sky-rocket.

What? Yeah, you read me right. Rain causes the incidence of rear-end collisions to rise here in Phoenix.

Here's what happens. As cars drive down a road, grease and oil fall off the car onto the roadbed. This happens on roads all over the world. You would think that this would make the roads slicker, but it doesn't. In most places, it rains enough that the slippery goo washes away before building up too much, so it doesn't become a problem.

In Phoenix, things are a bit different. We don't get a lot of rain. It's not really uncommon to go months at a time between rains, so you can see that the oily, greasy goo builds up on the roadbeds. When the road is dry, this isn't much of a problem, because in the great scheme of things, it's not a lot of goo, and it tends to hide in the pores of the asphalt.

But when it rains, watch out! For the first few minutes of the rain, the goo starts to rise, then the action of the goo and water being squeezed between the roadbed and tires starts to turn it into a mousse-like substance, which can really be slick. You really can't see it very well with the naked eye. You kind of have to look at the roadbed at an oblique angle, with a light pointing to the road, and reflecting back to your eyes to see the telltale "rainbow" of oil on top of water.

This wouldn't normally present a huge problem, but other factors come into play. Because it doesn't rain much, a lot of people here in Phoenix don't pay much attention to the tread depth of their tires. Shallow tread, or even "slick" tires aren't much of a problem on dry roads. But when the roads get wet... well, you get the picture.

Plus, Phoenix seems to be the tailgating capital of the world. Also, so many people commonly travel at speeds very much in excess of the speed limit, even on city streets, not to mention the freeways.

Put all these factors together, and it's a recipe for disaster. It wouldn't surprise me to hear of a at least one, and possibly several, multi-car tailgate chain-reaction type collisions before the end of the day.

As for me, I'm staying off the road today. I'll be leaving for Tucson in a few hours, to visit with Johnny Wraith, but between now and then I'm staying inside, listening to the rain, and getting a few things done around the old homestead. So far, my laundry is done, although I haven't hung everything up yet (I'd rather write than do laundry any day of the week). The floors are vacuumed, the sheets are changed on my bed, and I've sorted through the stuff that just seems to pile up, and thrown out a bunch of junk. Next I'll tackle the dishes, clean the kitchen and bathroom, and be done just it time to hit the road to Tucson.

A weekend of fun and debauchery in the company of my old pal, Johnny Wraith, awaits. We'll poor one back, to salute the rain, and one more to salute all of you. The rest we'll just pour back for effect. And what an effect they shall have on us! I don't imagine I'll be able to see straight much past nine o'clock tonight! Cheers!

I hope to see you out there on the road. Just not so close in the rear view mirror, okay!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

PS - I've promised to reveal the the sordid details of how I almost got fired, and why I ultimately did switch cab companies. I'm working on those articles. But I want to let johnny Wraith (yes, he really is a lawyer) review them before posting. I'll get them up as soon as I can. Stay tuned: there's lots of drama!

Cleaning, Mom, and Pizza

2007-11-29T23:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I didn't do much of anything today, but at least I had plenty of time to do it.

Since I'll be going down to Tucson Friday night, to visit with Johnny Wraith through the weekend, I decided to take today and Friday off, and get a few things done around my apartment.

Also, I went over to my Mom's house to help her clean the filter for her central heating and cooling unit. The actual amount of time it takes to do this is about fifteen minutes, but you have to let the filter dry after washing it, and that takes about and hour and a half.

So Mom and I sat around talking, and watching various "Judge" shows, like "Judge Joe Brown" and "Judge Judy." After watching about ninety minutes of this garbage, I came to the realization that there are an incredible number of really dumb people in the world, and that any number of them are willing to go on national television to prove it.

After the filter was dry and reinstalled, my Mom took me out for a pizza. We went to my favorite pizza joint in the area, Ralph's La Hacienda Pizzeria, 15236 N. 59th Avenue, in Glendale, (602) 978-2780, on the southwest corner of Greenway and 59th. I've been going there for over thirty years, ever since high school, and when ever I'm near my Mom's house, I stop in, usually with her, to have some pizza or spaghetti.

Recently, Ralph died, and the place was sold, so technically it's now Long Wong's Wings and Ralph's Pizza, but that's a real mouthful. Anyway, I only go there for the pizza, which is just as good as ever. I like wings, too, but there are other Long Wong's near my house; there's only one Ralph's. I wasn't going to do anything other than scarf a pizza.

The medium cheese and meatball pizza went down real smooth. When you're in the area, give Ralph's a try. You might like it. It doesn't matter to me, it won't change my mind.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

The Cab Guy Jumps Ship

2007-11-28T21:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I had a very full and interesting day today.

But unfortunately, not enough time to write about it.

Yesterday, I was threatened with being fired, but was spared the axe. Today, after reviewing my options, I decided to quit. I didn't do anything that was really wrong, but was caught being a little too curious about why the company was allowing certain drivers to grow fat (financially) at the expense of all the rest of us, even though we all pay the same lease, and how it was being done. Watch for all the sordid details in up-coming posts over the next few days.

Speaking of fat, don't worry about The Cab Guy not being able to buy groceries and being forced onto a diet due to a lack of funds. I've already being hired by another taxi firm, which at 300+ cabs is the major competition of the firm I used to work for. The President of the new company welcomed me personally to the new firm!

I'm going to work a shift tomorrow to activate my contract, then take a few days off to visit Johnny Wraith down in Tucson. I'll be taking along my notebook computer so that I can keep up with this blog.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Update to 'If It Walks Like a Duck...'

2007-11-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

Here's an update to my posting of Saturday, November 24, 2007.
If you've read the original post, you know that Friday night, November 23, I had a
guy walk out on his fare. As of the time of Saturday's posting, Joe hadn't responded to my note requesting he call me and make arrangements to pay, hence my rant.

If you haven't read the post, see If It Walks Like a Duck... for all the details.

Tonight, Joe left me an voicemail saying he left twenty dollars in an envelope under the welcome mat in front of his door, and I could come by and pick it up anytime. Since he lives only about two miles from me, I went right over to get the Andy Jackson. After retrieving the money, I wrote on the envelope, "Thanks Joe, I appreciate this. No hard feelings."

Maybe I was a little hasty in calling Joe a "drunken pissant." Although he could have coughed up the cash a little sooner.

Maybe I'll see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Hit or Stay?

2007-11-26T23:45:00.000-07:00

To provide some much needed diversion and entertainment, after work tonight, I went to my favorite casino, to play a little Blackjack. Watching other people in the game caused to me think about why some people play the way they do.

I use a strict "basic strategy" style of play when I play "21", and vary my bets to take advantage of winning streaks, while diluting the effects of losing streaks.
For example, I almost always (greater than 98% of the time) hit a 16 when the dealer's up card is a 7 or better.

I know the math, and proven it for myself. Standing on 16, hoping the dealer does not have a "made hand" (17 through 21) is a statistical loser 72% of the time, because 72% of the time the dealer will in fact have a made hand, or draw to one, taking your money. Alternatively, hitting 16, even with it's unfavorable chance of busting (eight of thirteen cards, the 6 through King), produces a statistical loss only 60 percent of the time, because five of thirteen cards (5 down to the Ace) will produce a tie, or a better hand than the dealer.

Putting it another way, this means that standing on sixteen (against a 7 or better) wins only 28% of the time, while hitting produces a winner 40% of the time. This is a significant difference.

So if you're a gambler, and play Blackjack, please leave a comment explaining what you do in this situation, hit or stay, and why. I promise not to try to argue the rightness or wrongness of your strategy. I'm just curious. Who knows, maybe I'm missing something here.

By the way, I won three hundred dollars on a two hundred dollar "buy-in" while playing at a ten dollar minimum bet table. That was certainly entertaining, and I diverted the winnings directly into my bank account. The icing on the cake? The casino gave me a ten dollar meal ticket, to encourage me to come back another time. I ordered a steak, egg and hash browns plate, to go. It will make a delicious breakfast.

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Big or Small, I Take 'Em All

2007-11-25T22:30:00.000-07:00

All my life I've heard how important it is to not disregard the little things. Actually, the advice is usually stated this way: "Take care of the little things, and the big things will take care of themselves." This advice is so appropriate in the cab world.

At least once a day, someone will get in my cab and say something like,

"I'm sorry this is such a short trip, but I only need to go to..."

and they name someplace that's close by. This happened to me three times today. The only reason I can think of for someone to apologize for how short a fare might be is that some other cabbie, in the past, has made it obvious that he (or she) was very disappointed to get a short fare, as opposed to a longer one, and made that disappointment obvious to the customer. This experience probably left the customer embarrassed, and feeling that many or all cabbies feel this way, hence the need to apologize to me.

You don't need to apologize to me. I'm never sorry to get a fare, any fare, because they all fall to the bottom line. Sure, it can be tedious to get a whole string of five or six dollar calls, all in a row, but I usually don't worry about it. I know that by the end of the day, or week, or month, everything will balance out, and I'll have received my fair share of short, medium and long fares, and make a pretty good living for doing my job.

You see, my average fare, with tip, is currently (over the past year) about seventeen dollars. Today I took ten calls in about eight hours, and booked $191.00, a little above my per-call average, but it's in the ball park. A normal day is usually about eleven or twelve hours, twenty to thirty calls, and total bookings of $275.00 to $325.00. (For the purpose of accounting for my time, I include "no shows" in my trip count, which tends to skew the per-call average down.)

If I were to adopt a business plan that demanded I refuse to do any call that was less than, say, twenty dollars, you can easily see I'd be giving up somewhat more than half my usual total bookings. After my expenses for gasoline (a variable expense equal to about 12 to 15% percent of bookings) and cab lease (fixed, regardless of bookings), I'd end up taking home way less than half of what I usually do.

Gas and lease for a $300.00 day is about $140.00, netting me about $160.00. Gas and lease for a $150.00 day (say maybe five to seven hours) would be around $125 or so, netting me $25.00. This would be a quick way to go broke. (Today was a horse of a different color: It was my "free" day. The company from which I lease my cab only charges me for six days, if I keep the cab for seven. Thus, the seventh day is free. So my total net income was about what I'd usually make on a regular day. I don't need to work the "free day." But today I had nothing better to do.)

So I take every call that our dispatching system offers me. More calls, however big or small they are, equals more income, which can only be a good thing for me. Now, if you call me personally on my cell phone, I do require a twenty dollar minimum payment. I assume you want me, rather than some other random cabbie, because of the superior level of service you think I provide. Let's face it, you have pay to get what you want. I'm not being hypocritical, just practical: if I have to drop everything and drive twenty miles to get you, rather than take a call within a mile or two of where I am right now, I need to be compensated for the extra effort.

Folks, never apologize to a cabbie for taking a short trip. If you feel a cabbie is disdainful of you because you're not going very far, ignore him. You are the bread and butter of the personal transportation industry, at least here in the Phoenix market, for the segment I serve. If every person who needed a "short trip" were to all of a sudden start walking, I, and a lot of other cabbies would have to go and find another job.

Personally, I don't want to do that. I like what I do. Sure, I've had higher paying jobs, with more "status" or "prestige." But those jobs always came with a cost. I had to do what someone else told me to do. I had to do it his way. On his schedule. At his whim. For the same pay as other people in the same job, who likely didn't do it as well as I did. To a person like me, that's a mind-numbing trap.

True story: when I was an adult probation officer, for ninety months in a row, more than seven years, I operated at 150% or more of expected performance requirements. But my pay was identical to the guy who could barely manage to stay above 97%. As a matter of fact, for eighty-four of those months, all in a row, I was the top ranked APO in my department, yet I received the exact same pay that every other APO with a similar "time in grade" received.

At the risk of being tedious, allow me to repeat what I said earlier. I like what I do. I'm my own boss. I get to work when I want, where I want. My schedule is my own. If I want to cut out early, I don't need permission. If I want to take a day off, I don't have to lie, and call in sick. If I work harder than the next guy, I'll make more than he does. If I make less, it's because I slacked off, I have no one to blame but myself.

Unless I decide to become a multi-cab owner, and lease cabs out to other drivers, I'll never get rich in this business. But I do okay financially, and I really like what I do. Not too many people, if they're really being honest, can say that about their job. I know. It hear the complaints from the back seat every day.

I'll trade the security of mediocrity for the rewards of excellence every day of the week. Especially if Sunday is free!

I hope to see you out there on the road.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

If It Walks Like a Duck...

2007-11-24T20:15:00.000-07:00

If you were to think about it logically, not everyone who acts the way a thief would act is a thief. But every thief who acts like a thief certainly is. So how do you tell the difference between two people exhibiting thief-like behavior? Which one is the criminal, and which one doesn't realize how his behavior looks to an observer?

I post this observation, and the attendant question, because of something that happened to me last night, and something that happened today.

Before I get to the story of the two situations, I want to make it perfectly clear that I understand that it is not always easy for a person to see that his behavior may be negatively perceived, because he does not perceive his behavior to be negative. The political correctness crowd have convinced us that stereotyping is an invalid method of determining potential dangers in our midst. They say that just because something walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and lays duck eggs, doesn't mean that it's a duck.

Bullshit, I say! If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck and lays duck eggs, it's a duck. If you dress like a thug, talk like a thug, and act like a thug, you may be the valedictorian of your class at the local Parochial school... but pardon me, if you don't mind (and I don't give rat's ass if you do), if I assume you're a thug, and take steps to protect me and mine until you prove otherwise. How a person is perceived is at least as much the responsibility of that person, and I say much more, as that of someone observing him.

With that, let me tell you the story of my night and day.

I usually work during the day, as I find that the "Weirdness Quotient" is lower than at night, plus it allows me to have at least the opportunity of a somewhat normal life outside of my cab. However, Friday was a very slow day, so I went home for a few hours to rest, intending to go out later and make a few extra bucks.

After getting back on the streets at about 1030pm, my very first call took me to Pomeroy's a very nice tavern/bar at the intersection of Missouri Avenue and Camelback Road, where I was to pick up Joe. I later found out that Joe was a friend of the owner of the establishment. He was also clearly highly intoxicated. I escorted him out to my car, helped him in, and took him home. He gave me the old "take me to such-and-such a corner." When we got to that corner, he said to go straight, and he'd point out his house. Well, we got to the next corner without him saying a word. By requiring him to sit up straight, look out the window and point out his house, I was able to get him home.

While I waited, he went through his pockets, but couldn't come up with any money. He then said he would have to go inside to get some money. I told him I'd wait, but reminded him that the meter was still running. He never came back. I left a note on his door to call me, but here we are, almost twenty-four hours later, and he has yet to do so.

Last night, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, figuring that in his drunken state he merely forgot that I was outside waiting. I also presume that he did not know that his script of "I need to get money from the house" is a common ploy among the thug set. So at the time, I hoped for the best, left him the note, and figured he'd call me.

That he didn't has led me to change my mind.

Joe, if you're reading this, you need to know that I think you're a thief. Everyone else reading this thinks the same thing, because if you weren't, you'd have called by now to make reparations. I know where you live. That I don't publish your address, a picture of your house, and your car's license plate is charity on my part, not fear of retaliation from you, you drunken pissant!

Now on to the second event, from today, about 130pm to be precise.

I went to a Denny's to pick up someone who I'll call "Sidney", because I don't remember this name. I was on-site within three minutes of receiving the call, which obviously pleased Sidney. He got in the car, with a plastic garbage bag full of who-knows-what, and told me where he wanted to go, which was about three miles away. I started the meter, and we were off. He asked what the fare would be. I said about ten dollars (it actually turned out to be a little over nine). He then said to take him as far as I could for six dollars.

Now, because the "flag drop" is $2.50 (the minimum service charge just for showing up), and the per-mile charge is $1.80, six dollars would only get him about halfway there. I told him this. When we got to six on the meter, he said to keep going, that he'd just as soon pay what it took to get the rest of the way there. Arriving at his destination, the meter, which Sydney could clearly see, said $9.40. However, I only asked him to pay nine, hoping I'd end up with ten, but figuring I wouldn't, because of his evident miserliness over how much the fare would be. If he really didn't want to spend money on himself, then my needs would be probably be disregarded.

Rather than paying me right away, Sidney opened the car door, grabbed his garbage bag, and started to step out.

Does this remind you of anything? It did me.

See, almost everyone who ever ripped me off by not paying the fare stepped out of the cab as a prelude to taking off.

Sidney walked like a duck.

Remember how I said he asked what the fare would be, changed his destination over a money issue, and then directed me to continue on to his original destination? This is a common ploy of thieves. First, a thief would want to lure me into a false sense of security. I'm supposed to think, "Well he has money, just not enough to get him where he really wants to go. But, he's being upfront about his money issue, so he'll at least pay me for the shorter trip." Then thief reverts to his original destination, to set me off balance. Whatever his actual motivation, Sidney's behavior mimicked that of a thief.

Sidney quacked like a duck.

As to the garbage bag, it was Sidney's duck egg.

I don't want to get into a long-winded explanation of why it was a red flag. It was a garbage bag, for pity' sake, not a Louis Vuitton briefcase! Anyone with three days experience in the cab world would have looked at it askance.

So I said to him, "Sir (yes, I actually did use the word "Sir"), you need to pay me before you exit the car."

This brought him up short. He said, "But I need to stand up to get to my wallet!"

A likely story.

I'm not exactly what you'd call svelte. As a matter of fact, to refer to me as merely "husky" is a grand compliment. As big as I am (and believe me, I'm huge, at over six feet tall, weighing in at three hundred pounds), I can still easily get my hand under either one of the enormous Christmas hams that comprise my buttocks, to get to my wallet. He should have be able to do the same, as he was a medium-sized man wearing loose clothing.

Sidney couldn't see that his actions could be perceived as the prelude to a theft, given the circumstances under which cabbies have to operate. He's like many people, oblivious to the fact that their actions speak may volumes about how they may act in the future. No explanation would have convinced him otherwise.

With evident anger, Sidney handed me a ten dollar bill. I gave him a dollar, although I could have rightly returned him only sixty cents.

Grabbing his garbage bag, Sidney blurted out, "I was gonna give you that dollar as a tip! But because of what you said, I won't!"

After years of hearing this king of crap, I couldn't help it. I let fly:

"Shut up! You were not, so don't lie and tell me you were. Garbage bag haulin', money-grubbing, 'I really don't want to pay more than six dollars', steppin'-out-of-the-cab-to-pay-me people like you never do! So have a nice day!"

His response was predictable.

"You're an asshole, do you know that?"

"Yep. And damn proud to be one. I earned the title, and wear it with pride! See ya, and I'm damn sure I wouldn't want to be ya!"

Damn, after years of taking crap from literally hundreds of people who've played the "I would tip you, but..." game, in all of it's manifestations, it felt good to finally let all that anger out. I felt like I would have after having having divested myself of a three-week colon blockage!

I forgave myself for my lack of professionalism, and dropping the tranny into 'Drive,' I cruised away to my next fare.

Have a nice day, Sidney. Have a nice effing day! No cabbie would buy your bullshit.

Thanks for listening.

Sincerely, The Cab Guy

Gambling Tips

2007-11-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine operates a website/blog named Johnny Wraith Stories (link on sidebar). This is where he posts his fiction stories, allows others to post their stories, receives comments on his stories, and comments others stories. The other day he posted a question about gambling.

Here's Johnny's question:

So, is there a trick to winning at slots? For instance, if I have $100, do I just put it in any machine and hit MAX BET until I am out or rich, or do I switch from machine to machine based on some algorithm, or do I limit my bets based on results, or what?

Maybe because I'm closer to Johnny that the average person, I understood that it was a joke question designed to "stir up the pot." He does this from time to time, just to see if any responses might generate story ideas. Some people obviously didn't get the joke. Some called Johnny stupid, while others implored him to invest his money more wisely.

I liked my answer the best. But then again, I'm an ego maniac. For your enjoyment, or disgust, here's what I said:

Johnny,

If you're going to throw your money away on gambling anyway, the best way to obtain maximum benefit and enjoyment from a one hundred dollar bill is follow this simple, five-step process:

1. Take your hundred-dollar bill, go to a nice restaurant, have a forty dollar meal, leave ten for a tip, and insist you get your change in the form of a single fifty-dollar bill. Go home. Maybe listen to some soft music, or put in a DVD. Relax until you hear the call of nature.

2. Answer the call, taking along the fifty-dollar bill, and one of those resealable sandwich bags. Sit down on the throne, relax, and let nature take it's course. Meanwhile, pull out the fifty, and examine it closely. Look at the intricate design formed by the engraved plate upon the paper. Leave no detail unexamined. Commit it to memory. Consider how you exchanged one piece of paper, similar to the fifty, for a meal, and received a different piece of paper in return, and how absurd this course of action would appear to an African Bushman. When you are done doing your business, instead of toilet paper, use the fifty. Be careful: it's smaller, and rougher. It will get the job done, if you're patient. When your ass is clean, place the fifty in the sandwich bag, very carefully sealing the bag. Stand up, buckle up, and wash up.

3. Go down to the nastiest part of town, and find the dirtiest, grungiest, smelliest hobo you can. Give him the fifty, safely secured in the sandwich bag, telling him he can only use the bill to buy himself a nice dinner. Drive him to the restaurant where you had dinner. Recommend his courses to him; remind him which wines would be appropriate. Tell him to tell the waitress to "keep the change."

4. Go home and consider how this whole process is a metaphor for life. It's how shit get passed down.

5. Laugh until you cry.

I did.

-----

Drive a cab for more than a few months, and you may find this to be your attitude towards life. Though I resist, sometimes it is for me.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

PS - I highly recommend going to Johnny's website. It's a hoot. There's a link on the sidebar.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

I really couldn't think of anything to write today. Except for "I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving. Be grateful for what you have received. Treat your family right. Don't eat to much. Brush and floss before bed."

Meanwhile, check out these picture of birds I'd like to see at my holiday dinner. Yummy!

Hey, what do you want? I'm addicted to bad jokes and puns! But wouldn't these "birds" make up a great dinner party? You betcha!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

A Plea for Sober Driving

2007-11-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

A few years back, in my Fast Lane Magazine column, I wrote a little rant concerning drinking and driving. As we enter the holiday season, I think you might find it educational.

The Cab Guy Pleads for Sober Driving
Now, before we begin the fun, I would like to make a seasonal plea for sanity during the upcoming holiday party season. I know that some of you who are reading this are going to totally ignore the advice that I am about to give, but that’s okay, because there are always going to be idiots that cannot do the right thing, no matter what the situation. Therefore, this little slug of advice that I am going to impart is for the rest of you out there, who can change, if given reason enough to do so. So here it is: DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE!

Because Fast Lane Magazine is distributed at quite a few bars, clubs and lounges throughout the Valley, the chances are, those of you who are reading this right now probably received your copy from a drinking establishment. I am hoping that if you are reading this while you are in a bar, club or lounge, and you are consuming a tasty adult beverage, you will do the right thing, the smart thing, and take a taxi home. You have no excuse not to, as so many of the cab companies in the Valley offer some form of a "free ride back" program, where you pay for a cab ride home, and the cab company gives you a free ride back to your car in the morning. What could be easier?

If a personal plea from me, your Cab Guy, isn’t enough to keep you from getting behind the wheel after having one or more adult beverages, and if the offer of a "free ride back" isn’t enough to keep you off the road when you aren’t 100% sober, then you must be one of those people who thinks that he or she is okay to drive because you haven’t had that much to drink. I guess the thinking goes something like this:

"I haven’t had that much to drink, so I won’t be over the 'legal limit' of 0.08 percent blood alcohol content, therefore I cannot be convicted of Driving While Intoxicated, so I must be okay to drive!"

People, what kind of thinking is this? Although you may have a blood alcohol content under .08, that does not mean you are safe to drive, and it certainly does not mean that you cannot be convicted of Driving Under the Influence.

I know that at this very moment, some of you are thinking, "Hey Cab Guy, if my BAC is under .08, how can I be convicted of DUI?"

Well folks, listen up, pay attention, and you might learn something. DWI and DUI are not the same thing!

That’s right, folks, DWI and DUI are not the same thing. They are two separate offenses, exclusive of each other, and are treated as such in the Arizona Criminal Code. DWI relates to the amount of alcohol that you have in your system at the time that you operate a motor vehicle, while DUI relates to the effect of alcohol on your ability to safely operate a motor vehicle. You can be convicted of DUI if you drive after having only one drink containing alcohol, if it affects your ability to drive "to the slightest degree."

Once again for, the condensed version, for the mouth breathers: even if your blood alcohol content is under .08, you can be convicted of DUI! So stop putting yourself, and others, in danger: if you’ve been drinking, even if it’s only a little, don’t get behind the wheel. Take a cab, or have a sober friend drive you home!

-----

Since I first wrote this, several years ago, Arizona's DWI-DUI laws have gotten even more draconian. More and more people are finding this out the hard way, by having to spend significant time in jail, as well as thousaands of dollars in legal fees, fines and extra insurance premiums, for being what they thought was "okay to drive."

Plus, having to deal with the costs associated with a suspended driver's license isn't a lot of fun, either. Get a DWI-DUI, and your chances of meeting me or one of my cohorts in person will significantly increase. How dumb will you feel to have a perfectly serviceable car in your driveway, but still have to take a cab everywhere you go? Believe me, the cost of a few cab rides home during the holiday season, or any season, for that matter, is a lot cheaper than having to take a cab to work every day for what could be a long, long time!

Please don't be a statistic. Don't drink and drive. Ever. Even one may be too many.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Thanksgiving Wishes, and a Wild Ride to Boot!

2007-11-20T05:45:00.000-07:00

Hello my friends, thanks for calling on me, business has been a little slow lately, and I could use a few more 'personal' trips like this. At the time I write this, the Thanksgiving pig-out is still several days away. I’m going to go out on a limb here and predict I will probably consume about three times as many calories in a single sitting as I usually do in an entire day. And since I am a pretty big guy, that is, quite frankly, a scary thought.

I hope all of you reading this have a pleasant Thanksgiving season, and are truly grateful for all that you have received in your life. I know that I am, although I don’t always remember to consider it so.

Now, although I am not a character in the little tale to follow, it is, in fact, a true Taxi Tale. As a matter of fact, I happen to think it is one of the best Taxi Tales I have heard in a long time, and I’ve heard hundreds of them. The protagonist, whoops, I’m sorry, I guess I should have said main character or hero, is currently a truck driver, but he used to drive a cab in Seattle. His name is Mike L., and I met him while playing poker one night out at Gila River’s Wildhorse Pass Casino. Although the poker game was fun, Mike’s telling of his story was the cherry on top. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy Mike’s story, in his own words. I call it…

“How Much to Wenatchee?”
As I was saying earlier, I used to drive a cab in Seattle. I did this for about ten years, and really enjoyed it. Probably the story that most sticks out in my mind is the time I got a call in the middle of the night to go to a convenience store that I knew was closed at that time of the night. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I decided to check it out. Anyway, when I got there, I didn’t see anyone right away, but as I pulled around in the parking lot, this guy jumped out of the bushes on the side of the building. He had to be one of the dirtiest, filthiest people I had ever experienced in my career. His clothes were filthy, and he had quiet an impressive bush of hair growing out of his head. He wasn’t the scariest person I had ever seen, but he was right up there, I’ll tell you!

Anyway, I roll down the window, and ask him if he was the person that called for the cab. He said that he was, so I asked him where it was that he wanted to go. He said that he needed to get to Wenatchee, and wondered if I could give him a good rate. Now, in case you don’t know, a trip from Seattle to Wenatchee takes about four hours, and involves a trip over the mountains east of Seattle. That’s a pretty good run, and if a person was serious, I’d really be up for it, because even allowing for the round trip, I’d still have several hours left of my shift, and with the fare to Wenatchee, plus whatever I could make when I got back to Seattle, I’d have a pretty good payday. I figured this guy was whacked out, and having a little fun at my expense, but I went ahead and offered him a pretty good rate of two hundred dollars.

I really didn’t think that he had that kind of money, so imagine my surprise when he hauled out a wad of cash that would choke an elephant. He handed me the two hundred dollars, and I unlocked the doors, and let him in the car. Now, just as soon as I let him in the car, I knew that I was going to earn my two hundred dollars, because this guy really smelled bad. And what’s worse, it was the dead of winter, so driving to Wenatchee with the windows rolled down was going to be a test of my endurance. But, I thought about the two bills, and decided to tough it out.

As soon as the guy got settled in, I got on the radio to let dispatch know where I was going, and made a few calls on my cell phone to some of the guys I worked with, to see if they had any information regarding the weather conditions along the route I planned to take through Stevens Pass.

At this point the guy sits up real close to the back of my seat and asks me,

‘Do you have to always be talking on the phone and the radio?’

Yes, I tell him, it’s part of the business, I need to keep my company informed of what I’m doing, check on the weather, stuff like that. I’m sorry if it bothers you, I say, but it is part of what I do. Why don’t you just sit back and relax?

At this point the guy kind of leans back, falls over, pulls his feet up, and starts to cry. Great, I’m thinking, I’m really going to earn this fare! I’m already thinking that this trip can’t end soon enough, and we’re only about five or ten minutes along the way.

After a few minutes of crying, or moaning, or what have you, my passenger sits up, leans forward, and asks,

Are you going with me all the way?'

'What?', I say.

'You’re gonna go with me all the way, aren’t you?,' he says.

'Yeah, of course, you’ve paid me, I’ll get you where you’re going.'

This must have pleased him, because in the rear-view mirror, I could see a big smile on his face and he leaned back in the seat. And proceeded to take off his shoes. Revealing the dirtiest, nastiest, smelliest feet I had ever seen! I really didn’t think that after getting a wiff of those beauties that things could get any more interesting, but I was wrong.

For a little while, the guy stayed back in the seat, alternately crying, laughing, and moaning. This was a little freaky, but I didn’t mind, because we were making pretty good time, and I preferred what he was doing, to all the other things that he could have been doing. But, these fun times were too good to last, because after a while he sat up, and again asked me,

‘You’re going with me all the way, aren’t you? You’re really with me all the way, right?’

'Right,' I said, 'whatever.'

All of a sudden, he sat back on the seat, sat up real straight, and asked me if I also practiced the ‘Black Arts’. I could practically hear the capital letters in the way he said it.

'You practice the Black Arts don’t you? You’re going to take me all the way aren’t you?'

'Yes, of course, I’m going to take you all the way to Wenatchee!', I said. 'Please just sit back and relax, we’ll be there in just a little while!'

Man, this guy was really starting to freak me out. We were coming up on Stevens Pass, so I really had to concentrate on my driving, and wasn’t paying real close attention to the guy.

Now remember, it was wintertime, and it was cold, and in Washington you have to know that it’s wet and icy on the road. All of a sudden, completely out of the blue, the guy says,

'Come on, let’s go, you said you were going all the way with me!', opened the curbside door, and jumped out of the car.

'Holy Shit!', I’m thinking, the guy just jumped out of my car!

I look in the rear-view mirror, and see him tumbling end over end. I brake to a stop as quick as I can, and back up to check on the guy, but already, in my mind, I’m thinking that I’m going to be calling in to report a dead body to the police. As I back up, I see the guy get up, and stagger around a bit. I’m so relieved to see that he’s okay, that what happened next took me completely by surprise. He kind of shook himself off, and started running across the highway, towards the cliff-side edge. I couldn’t believe it! He didn’t slow down at all, he just ran up to the barrier, and dove over. Headfirst. To a pretty long drop.

Well, I got out my flashlight, but when I looked over the edge, I couldn’t see him at all. Since we were deep in the mountains, neither my cell phone, nor my two-way radio, were working. I had to drive up the top of the pass to use a pay phone at a gas station that was closed. Then I drove back to the place he jumped, and waited for help.

Because it was such an isolated location, it took a while for a Sheriff’s Deputy to arrive on the scene. When he did, I relayed the story, just the way I’ve told you. Then I got his nasty, smelly shoes out of my car, and gave them to the deputy. I told the deputy that if the guy survived, he’d probably want his shoes back. I then got back in my car, and started driving back to Seattle.

When I got back into range, I got a message on the two-way that dispatch had been informed by the Sheriff’s Department what had happened, and I was to call dispatch, to give them the details. So, I got out my cell phone, and called the company. The dispatcher said that he had only one question for me, because everyone was real curious, and wanted to know: did I get the money up front, or not?

I couldn’t believe it! After all I went through, the guy freaking me out, jumping out of the car, jumping over the cliff, and then disappearing, and all they wanted to know was if I got the money up front. What the hell could they be thinking?

I’m a professional! Of course I got the money up front!

But, that isn’t the end of the story.

A few hours later, I was told to call the Sheriff’s Department, which I did. The deputy I spoke to told me that my passenger had been found. Naked. That’s right… naked! He was just walking around naked, apparently physically unharmed. He was taken to the local looney-bin, and checked in for a little rest.

But… that’s not the end of the story.

A few weeks later, I picked up a doctor at that same mental hospital. I asked him if he had heard the story, and asked me if I was the driver. I said I was, and asked what happened to the guy.

He said, 'Oh, we shipped that wacko out of here!'

So, at least now I know the official medical term for what was wrong with the guy! He was a wacko!

Thus ended Mike's story.

There you have it friends. Just remember, contrary to what Forest Gump said, life is not like a box of chocolates. It’s more like a jar of jalapeno peppers: what you to eat today could burn you in the ass tomorrow! See you next time.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

(A version of this posting previously appeared in my Fast Lane Magazine Column, "Road Rage - Tales From the Taxi!")

You Want to Go Where?

2007-11-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning when I came out to work, it didn't appear as if there were very many calls on the dispatch system. Certainly, none of them were anywhere near me. So I went on down to the Greyhound Bus Station to see what I could scare up. I wasn't disappointed.

As soon as I pulled onto the property, I saw that no other taxis were waiting for fares, so I was first up. I pulled the cab right up in front of the door, and sat back to await my first fare of the day. I didn't have to wait long, nor did I have to go very far to get that person where he was going.

Upon my return to the Greyhound I found that I was first up again. Once again I pulled up right in front of the door to wait for a fare. But this time, rather than kicking back in the cab, I got out to stretch my legs. Three cabs pulled in almost immediately, so I knew that I'd have someone to talk to if the wait was long. But, getting out of the cab, and leaning against the trunk must have been interpreted as an invitation to have a conversation, as a leather-jacketed man made a beeline over to my cab.

But I was wrong about him wanting to have a conversation. He wanted to talk alright: about how to get him from where he was, to where he wanted to go. The problem was, while where he was could be described in the physical world, where he wanted to go seemed to be more in the realm of an intellectual concept. The Phoenix Greyhound Bus station, having a particular address and cross streets, could be located on a map. His destination, lacking even an accurate proper name, could not be located, even in his own mind.

You see, where he wanted to go was the hotel where he had a reservation and a confirmation number, which he showed me written down a piece of paper. But he couldn't remember the name of the hotel.

"I want to go to the AmeriBest Hotel. Do you know where it is?", he asks.

"No, but I have a phone book, I can look up the address."

"You don't need to do that, I have the phone number right here," and showed me the piece of paper again.

I dialed the number, and wasn't surprised to find it out of service.

"The number's disconnected, sir."

"Well, maybe it isn't AmeriBest, maybe it America's Best."

Well, maybe it is, but 'America's Best' isn't listed in the phone book either, and I tell the guy that. Then I get the bright idea to ask some of the other cabbies if they might have a clue to where the guy wants to go. After consulting one cabbie who actually had what appeared to be a list of Phoenix area hotels, I thought that maybe where to guy wanted to go was 'America's Best Value Inn' in Tempe. The guy said it sounded familiar, he wasn't sure, but he was willing to take a chance. So we drove out to Tempe.

I had a nice conversation with the man, who's name turned out to be Eric. He had just come up from Benson, in southern Arizona, to start a new job with a trucking company. He would be staying at the hotel overnight, and in the morning, someone from the company would pick him up and take him to the truck yard, where he would pick up the semi-truck that he would be driving. He said he sure hoped that the hotel we were going to was the right one, otherwise, he didn't know what he'd have to do.

"Maybe next time write down the name and address of the hotel before leaving home?", I thought.

"Well, sir, if it's not the right place, there's lots of other places close by. I wouldn't worry about anything," I said.

After a leisurely ten minute drive, we pulled into the America's Best Value Inn. At this point the meter was at about $18.00. Eric went inside to see if he was in the right place. After a minute, I joined him. It turned out he wasn't in the right place. He did have a reservation at an America's Best Value Inn. But it was clear on the other side of Phoenix, as far west of the Greyhound as the one in Tempe was east of it.

After I jotted down the address of the other place, Eric and I hit the road again. This time we had a leisurely twenty-minute ride, but the conversation was still good. Eric wasn't mad at me for taking him to what turned out to be the wrong place. After all, he said, I did the best I could with the information I had. He didn't even seem to be too upset that by his own actions he had effectively tripled his cab fare. He seemed to be one of those perpetually calm people who take what comes their way, making no attempt to control what he can about what goes on around him.

Arriving at the other America's Best Value Inn, the meter now read $48.00. Eric gave me three twenties, and asked for two dollars back. Ten on forty-eight? Not a bad tip at all!

"I want you to have the extra ten for helping me as much as you did, making the phone calls and all. Thanks!"

"Well thank you, Eric. Good luck on the new job. Maybe I'll see you around some time."

With that, I got in the cab, and drove away. Back to the Greyhound. Where I was again instantly first up.

But I was think about how I was going to tell this story, and how I would end it. I decided it needed a moral, so I spent all the rest of Sunday composing it. And here it is:

"Everyone will eventually get to where they are going. But if they write down the name and address of their destination, they'll get there much. much quicker. And much, much cheaper!"

Thanks for listening.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Blah, Blah, Blah!

2007-11-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever met someone, started a conversation with them, and then come to realise that they clearly did not understand the rules of the "Conversation Game?" I met a guy like that just yesterday. I didn't kill or maim him, or damage him in any way. But I really wanted to!

I was driving my cab in Mesa yesterday, just trying to eke out a living. There weren't many calls in the east part of the Metro area, where Mesa is. I would have moved somewhere else, except that there weren't very many calls anywhere in the Phoenix area.

Around about four pm, I received a call to go pick up a fellow from a bar on Main Street. I don't really like bar calls at any time, but especially before sundown. Nighttime drinkers are bad enough; daytime drinkers are worse. They are more likely to be really drunk, less likely to be possessed of good humor, and more likely to be ridiculously ignorant. But, it is part of the job, so I put up with it.

A few minutes later I arrived at the bar, which shall remain unnamed, 'cause I don't need the potential legal hassles. But I will say this: the name of the bar is a synonym for 'a pig's thighbone.' Chew on that ham sandwich for a while.

Anyway, even before I opened the car door, I could hear the music blaring from the jukebox. I cringed at the thought of what having to actually enter the bar and expose my ears to the noise would do to my hearing. I prayed that my customer was seated near the door.

Entering the establishment, I made my way to the actual bar, where the bartender was conversing with a patron. As luck would have it, the patron was my customer. He asked if he could finish his beer. I nodded my assent, said I'd wait in the cab, and shot on out of there before my brain melted from the din.

A few minutes later, my customer, who I'll refer to as 'Jack', exited the bar, and made a beeline towards my car. Getting in, he told me the major cross streets to his destination. I put the car in drive, and away we went.

Jack immediately started a dialogue that was liberally spiced with epithets of all types, including the venerable F-bomb, but, oddly enough, lacking any trace of the N-word. Curious. Going on in this vein, he eventually wound down, and asked me how the cab business was going for me.

"Slow, today. But I'm doing alright, overall."

"Is this the only thing you do?", he asked. Why is it that so many people assume that being a cabbie isn't really a full-time profession, or really even a job?

"This is my full-time job, but I also write, and do stand-up comedy now and again."

"Who do you write for?"

"My loyal readers."

"What do you write?"

"Cab stories, and the occasional bit of 'wacky' fiction."

I then proceeded to tell him about the epic of degenerate excess that is growing, slowly, over at my other blog, Disco Bisquit (www.Doscobisquit.blogspot.com). I asked him if he knew where 'Tom Ryan's Bar' was. As it turned out, TRB was his destination. (Shocking... a day drinker going from one bar to another!) It also turned out that he knew that the previous name for the TRB was 'Group Therapy.' Which begat a round of "do you remember so and so...?"

Now let me fill you in on a few facts. About ten years ago, I used to hang out pretty regularly at Group Therapy. I was usually there on Wednesday nights for the Karaoke, and Saturday nights for the live band. I knew a few of the other semi-regulars, and they knew me. I can remember only a few names, but literally dozens of faces from that place. Keep this in mind as you try to follow the conversation ahead.

"So do you remember Jim?"

"No Jack, I'm not really good with names. I remember faces pretty well, but I have a hard time putting names to them. If you were to pull out a bunch of random photos, though, I could point out the people that went to Group Therapy, and the people who didn't."

"So you probably remember Corvette Bob, right?"

"No, Jack, like I said, I'm bad with names..."

"Well, you have to remember Tommy and his wife... what was her name?"

"Jack, like I said, I'm bad with names..."

"Oh, yeah! Now I remember! Her name was Diane. You remember Diane, dontcha?"

"No. The name thing, remember?"

"Yeah I know what you mean. But you gotta remember Jimmy. You remember Jimmy, right? Everyone knows Jimmy."

"No..."

And that how the conversation went, for the next ten minutes. Probably the most excruciatingly painful ten-minutes from the last thirty days of my life. Jack would ask if I remembered someone. I'd reply in the negative, and every once in a while remind him that I wasn't good with names.

And I know the sunuvabitch knew I wasn't good with names. He heard me say it, several times. He even acknowledge that I said it! He just didn't care. He just wanted to me know how important he was, and the only way he had of doing this was dropping the names of other important people. And who were these important people? Regular, habitual drunks who patronized a bar that changed it's name almost ten years ago.

Thankfully, the trip finally ended, without me swerving the car into oncoming traffic, or pulling over and beating the leaving Hell out of Jack. He gave me a twenty for a seventeen dollar fare, which is a pretty generous tip. But not nearly the recompense I felt I was due for having to put up with this nimrod for almost twenty minutes.

Just before he exited the cab, I asked him...

"Say, Jack, do you remember Rick?"

"No..."

"What about his girlfriend... what was her name? Laura, Loreen, Lori... Lauren! That's it, Lauren. You remember Lauren, don't you?"

"No, but then again..."

"How about Sammy? Shifty Sammy? Everybody knows Shifty Sammy. You gotta remember Shifty Sammy, dontcha?"

"Well, not really..."

"Well, Hell, Jack! What's going on here? I thought you knew everybody!"

He tossed me a dirty look, closed the cab door, turned, and shambled away into the bar.

Welcome to my world. If you want to hang out, you'd better pack a lunch.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Life Imitates Art

2007-11-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

I've figured out that if I drive a cab long enough, I'm either going to meet a famous person, or meet someone who has the same name as a famous person. So far, it hasn't happened to me, but a cab driver friend I know did meet someone who shared the name of a relatively well-known movie character. I thought the outcome was hilarious!

Jeff E. is the name of my cabbie friend. We used to work for the same cab company in the Phoenix area, but I recently moved on to another company. We keep in regular contact by phone, sharing war stories, and comparing our daily results. I'll let Jeff tell the story his way:

One day, about a year ago, I went to a house to pick up a lady who's name was Sarah Connor. At least that was the name given to me by the dispatch system. As you probably know, "Sarah Connor" is the name the character played by Linda Hamilton in the "Terminator" movies. In the first movie of the series, the Terminator, as played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, tries to kill Sarah; later on in the series he tries to save her from other terminators who are trying to kill her.

At one point Arnold's character meets Sarah, and says, "If you want to live, come with me!" I thought I might have a little fun with this situation, if the timing was right.

When I arrived at my Sarah Connor's house, I made sure that my Ray Ban sunglasses, like the ones the Terminator wore, were on straight. I then got out of the car, walked up to the door, and knocked on it. I waited a few seconds, then the door opened to reveal a very disheveled woman. In my very best 'Arnold' voice, I asked,

"Are you Sarah Connor?"

"Yes," she replied.

I then held my hand out to her, just like Arnie did in the movie, and said,

"If you want to live, come with me!"

I was only joking, but she totally freaked out! She screamed, slammed the door, and I never saw her again.

For a little while I was worried that I would get in trouble for what I had done. But I never heard of any complaints. I still laugh every time I think about the look on her face; it was hilarious!

Jeff called me up today to tell me that story. As soon as he said the name "Sarah Connor," I knew where he'd be going with the story. I started laughing almost immediately. Every time I've thought of it since I've had to giggle.

Thanks, Jeff, for letting me tell your story!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Steffan's Walk

2007-11-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, when a person steps out of my cab, they effectively step out of my life. My memory of them usually fades quicker than a bright shirt dropped in a vat of bleach. But I'm still thinking about Steffan...

I was at the Greyhound Bus station Thursday night, waiting for a 'go home' fare. I had been sitting in the 'first-up' position for about thirty minutes, after waiting 'on-deck' for an additional thirty minutes. I was beginning to wonder if it was really worth waiting at the station for a fare, or if I should just try to get a call off the dispatch system.

To me, it wasn't a good sign when the third-place cabbie, a Greyhound stand veteran, decided to leave without picking up a fare. What did he know that I didn't? I didn't feel much better when the second place guy also started to leave. I watched him pull up to the parking lot exit, and activate on his turn signal. It was obvious that he was waiting for traffic to clear. Traffic cleared for a few seconds, but he didn't go. Then his backup lights came on. This could only mean that he had a reason to stay... Turning back to the Greyhound entry, I saw people starting to stream out of the door.

I young man, who I later found out was named Steffan, walked over to my cab. Steffan was burdened by a HUGE backpack, and was pushing one of those tricycle baby strollers, it being overladen with bags of various types of foodstuffs. He replied in the positive when I asked him if he needed a cab. Opening my truck, I helped him get his backpack and the food bags secured. The stroller wouldn't fit in the trunk, but luckily, it folded, and we were able to place it on the back seat. I asked Steffan where he wanted to go. He pointed to a map he was holding, indicating the intersection of Main Street and Country Club road in Mesa. Woo Hoo! I had my go home fare!

As we headed east towards Mesa, Steffan and I began to talk. He had a accent similar to German, but otherwise spoke very clear English. I never did get around to asking him where he was from. He told me he walking across America for cancer. I assume that what he really meant was that he was walking across America because he was opposed to cancer, and was trying to raise money to help find a cure. It turned out that this was the correct interpretation.

As it turns out, Steffan does not have anyone sponsoring him in his endeavor. He does have a list of people who have pledged to donate to a particular charity if he completes the trip. But no sponsors. Steffan is taking money out of his own pocket to cover all of his costs as he walks across the United Staes, from California to Georgia. Quite dedicated to his cause, Steffan is.

I wondered why it was that I met him at the Greyhound Station, if he was walking across America. As it turns out, about ten days into his trip, Steffan ended up in Blythe, California. After spending about a day asking around for various roads or highways to take him further along, he found out that the only road east was Interstate 10. He said he didn't get too far out of town before a Highway Patrol Officer stopped him, saying it was illegal to walk along the side of an interstate highway. The officer then drove him back to Blythe, where he caught the bus to Phoenix. He wanted to use Mesa as his jumping off point.

Steffan told me that he was over four hundred miles east of his starting point, but he had only walked two hundred and ninety of those miles. He told me he was disappointed to have cheated, but didn't feel like back-tracking. Having not walked any distance greater than three miles at one time during the last decade, I had no opinion to offer on his "cheating." I was just amazed to meet someone doing what he was doing, with no sponsorship, no support.

I dropped Steffan off at a Mesa Fire Station near Mesa Drive and First Street. He said he was going to ask the firemen if he could sleep on the garage floor, or in the yard to the back of the station. He told he had done this before, that fireman were usually glad to accommodate him after they found out what he was doing. I wished him luck in his endeavor.

Just before parting ways, I asked Steffan if there was a way to contact him. He told me that a friend of his was in the process of putting up a website, www.SteffansWalk.org. It turns out that I can email Steffan through this site, although, at the time of this posting, it is not yet available. As soon as I notice that the wesite is active, I'll make another post saying so.

I just wanted to write about Steffan to remind everyone who reads this that there are people out there in the world who think they can make a difference. All by themselves. And are willing to walk across a continent to prove it!

Godspeed, Steffan!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

How About A Flat Rate?

2007-11-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it seems to me that everyone is trying to "get over" on the cabby. At least once a day some nimrod will get into my cab and ask me for a "flat rate" which is to say, a firm declaration on my part at the beginning of a trip how much I will charge the passenger at the end of the trip.

Now, I know some people, based on past experience, having taken the same trip dozens, or maybe even hundreds of times, already know the approximate fare of the trip they're about to take, and don’t want to have to fumble around with paying me, and then waiting for their change. They already know that the cost will be about, say, $12.00, and they would just as soon give it to me up front, and settle back and enjoy the ride.

These type of people are being honest and upfront with me, and usually say something like,

"I normally pay $12.00, with a two dollar tip; is that good for you?"

In cases like this, I quickly estimate the fare in my head, and if it’s close, I take the money, and off we go.

However, for other people, there is a more sinister motive. What they want to do is pay less than the service is worth, usually a lot less. These folks will ask for a flat rate from point A to point B, knowing that if I accept it, they are going to have the opportunity to con me into believing that the service they actually want is the service to which I agreed.

It usually goes some thing like this: "Fifteen okay for this trip?"

If I say yes, then all of a sudden they start asking for detours and extra stops along the way, in essence, cheating me out of my proper recompense. I can usually sniff out these morons, because their speech and body language gives them away.

I like to have fun with them, and ask a question like,

"Hey, do you have to negotiate your paycheck with your boss?"

Of course, I usually get a response like, "What do you mean?"

I say, "Well, what if, when you go to work in the morning, your boss were to say, 'Hey, how about I only pay you half of your hourly wage today?' Would you go for something like that?"

"Hell, no! He ain’t gonna rip me off that way!"

This is when I retort, "'Hell No!' is right, and I'm the same way. I don't negotiate my paycheck, and I don't do 'flats.'"

"Besides which, speaking of flats, if it comes to that, I’ve got a spare in the trunk."

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

(This little rant was excerpted from my column, "Road Rage: Tales From the Taxi," and appeared in a February, 2003, issue of Fast Lane Magazine, a Phoenix-area entertainment guide.)

Gypsy Cab

2007-11-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

Well, friends, I've received my first true cab story from a reader. Ron writes of his experience with a 'gypsy cab' in Bulgaria. I post it here for your enjoyment.

Keep in mind that I know the reader, Ron, from another venue, where we play on-line poker for free points and bragging rights. Ron and I became pretty friendly with each other one night when we found ourselves in a wild game with several fish. As I remember, patience paid off for both of us that night, as both of our "chip counts" were substantially up when we left the game.

I have posted Ron's story 'as is,' except I have substituted "The Cab Guy" for the name by which he knows me.

Hey, Cab Guy,

Thanks for pulling my chain; I just read and enjoyed your story about Ross.[Ed. note: see "Dude, Where's My Cash?"] I’m still teaching at American University in Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria and still enjoying doing so. Funny thing, this past week was our fall break and my ex-wife (now girl friend) came over to visit for 10 days. She flew into Sofia, about a two hour ride from here, 78 leva ($60) round trip by taxi AND GAS COSTS ABOUT $7 PER GALLON.

Anyway, on her return trip we decided to spend the weekend in Sofia, the country’s capital and a city of about 1.4 million. Taxis are generally very inexpensive anywhere in this country – not so this time for me. We had taken a cab to an outdoor market for maybe 3 leva (2 bucks). After walking a great deal MJ, my girl friend/ex-wife, was tired and cold so I hailed a cab to take us back to the hotel. The ride was unforgettable; I’ve watched more sedate driving on TV watching European road rallies. Anyway, when we got to our destination I pulled out three leva (about 2 bucks – see above) and he pointed at his meter showing over 7 leva. Fortunately, the hotel bellman was there to intervene and keep me from doing something really dumb. I can afford $5 dollars for a taxi ride if I’m staying in a $150 per night hotel but that wasn’t the point.

As the doorman explained, after I paid exactly 7.3 leva (no tip this time), there are some gypsy taxis that have the same name OK Taxi and the same yellow color as legitimate cabs, the difference is the legitimate taxis have two red dots on their name. Now I know, understand, and still don’t like it but . . .

Now back to reading another of your blogs – sure beats working. Hope to find you at a table again, my chip count’s a little short.

Best to you.

Ron

Well, Ron, I was entertained by the idea that you were "rolled" by the driver of a "Gypsy Cab" in a land so close to the ancestral homeland of the real Gypsies. If it's any consolation, you could think of it this way: it probably cost less than the rollercoaster ride at any Six Flags-over-wherever-the-hell-we-are. See you at the tables real soon. I'm feeling lucky!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Australian Cab Fare Prepayment Debate

2007-11-13T08:00:00.001-07:00

I'm constantly on the Internet, looking at information related to the cab industry. A few weeks ago, I found this debate about the prepayment of fares. I'm not even sure you'll find it interesting. Maybe I'm just getting lazy. Well, give it a go anyway. You might find the information useful.

I forget the website from which I got this 'debate.' I doesn't really matter, because I changed all the names. "Tom" is the alias of the person running the site, with the responses being from "Tom's" readers; mine is the last.

[Post Update: After re-reading this post (on November 21, 2007), I realized that I should have indicated that ALL of the names, save for mine, were aliases. Sorry for any confusion. Also, in his comment, Lucky 327 reminded me where I found the original post. It's at Bytes From the Backseat. Sometimes, this blog is a lot like Russian history: it's subject to revision!]

"Prepayment for Taxis" by Tom:
I had an interesting if rather annoying conversation with a customer last week. Interesting because of his point of view. Annoying because like a reasonable percentage of my customers he was drunk.

Basically he was saying that in his opinion all taxi fares should be pre paid at the commencement of the journey. When I pointed out that drivers had the right to ask for the fare in advance already he told me I was missing the point.

The point according to him is it creates a problem between the passenger and driver if the driver asks for the money in advance. All that could be avoided if DPI (dept of planning and infrastructure, taxi unit) and all the other relevent body’s implemented blanket pre payment of all taxi fares. Further to that he suggests an ad campaign utilising tv, radio and print media to ensure everyone knows about it, thereby eliminating any trouble in the cab and also eliminating the problem of non-payers or runners.

Honestly the idea is solid, I mean even carrying drunks would be less stressful if you knew the money side of things was already taken care of. Taxis are the only form of transport around that offers pay at destination. Sure there are some issues with credit/debit cards etc and how to ‘pre pay’ a fare then charge the correct amount once at the destination but I’m sure they could be sorted out.

I think it’s time we moved out of the dark ages and made the change.

This entry was posted on September 29, 2007 at 4:37 and is filed under fares, info, opinions . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

3 Responses to “Prepayment for Taxis”

Red Foreman Says: October 24, 2007 at 5:27
I’ve read this blog for a time, on and off. Nice color scheme, and very informative.
and yes, if there was someway to make everyone pre-pay, wouldn’t things be so much easier. I’m gonna add you as a link.

JackTheRipper Says: October 27, 2007 at 10:26
I have argued for this for years and run into all sorts of inexplicable opposition. The owner of the largest company in my city stated at a public meeting that there were a lot of unscrupulous drivers?! Apparently he was oblivious to how that statement reflected badly on him. It was actually after being ripped off every week for 9 weeks that I finally quit driving, after 20 -plus years, fed up. I’m happy to say I’ve finally found a job doing something I love, with people I respect, but I haven’t forgotten the need to protect drivers. The city I live in is pathetically conservative, and it is next to impossible to mobilize drivers to act in their own interest; I wish you luck. Let us know how it goes.

The Cab Guy Says: October 29, 2007 at 2:14
I drive for a large taxi company in the Phoenix, Arizona (USA) metro area. You know, I agree with you on this issue. But, I have the feeling that your customer meant “pre-payment of a flat rate fee”, rather than a “deposit against the ultimate fare” given his resistance to your explanation.

Here in Arizona, cab drivers have the right to ask for a deposit in advance of the fare. As a matter of fact, several police departments in the area recommend doing this.

I have a written list of conditions or circumstances under which I might ask for a deposit, which I will show to a potential customer if I am accused of prejudice or racism, or he doesn’t understand why it is appropriate to ask for a deposit. Most people comply immediately, because they’ve been asked before, or they see the logic. Most of the rest comply after I explain the situation.

A few rare individuals exclaim their indignation, saying that I should be ashamed of myself, and that I should just trust them. These people are then refused service. Generally they demand that I call them another cab. I always refuse to do this, and tell them why.

“Look, sir, I am allowed by state law to require a deposit, for any reason, or no reason at all. Your refusal to comply leads me to believe you won’t pay me at at all. There’s no way I’m going to put another driver through that. As a matter of fact, I’m going to notify my dispatcher that you won’t give me a deposit. He’ll make certain that any further calls from you will be cancelled.”

The way I look at it, if someone is offended by this practice, then they really don’t have any empathy for other people. Therefore, why should I trust them?

As to enacting something like a “Pre-Pay” system, I really don’t think there would be that many problems. Just estimate the trip mileage, calculate the fare from this estimate, add ten for fifteen percent for “wiggle room” (traffic delay, unexpected stops, etc.), give this total estimate to the customer, and clearly state that they will receive any change, if due, or owe a balance if the estimate proves insufficient.

I’ve used this procedure for years, and have never been accused of ripping someone off. I also do not worry about how the practise might affect my tip income, the way some cab drivers do. The way I look at it, I rather have 100% percent of what’s on the meter and no tip because of a deposit, rather than 0% of the meter plus tip because I failed to get a deposit. A a matter of fact, my actual tip income from these situations is fairly much on par with no-deposit situations.

In the old days, people could be trusted to pay someone what they owed, and that is why it was customary to collect the fare at the end of the trip. This custom has long since out-lived its useful life. It is an archaic practice that should have been eliminated a long time ago.

As a final note: this is what I say to people who refuse to give me a deposit because “the last guy didn’t ask for one”: “Well, if you’re so offended, then give him a call!”

Sincerely

The Cab Guy

The Heart-Attack Grill

2007-11-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Have you every wanted to go to a sit-down restaurant for a delicious meal of a hamburger and fries, and have it served to you in about the same amount of time it takes for a fast-food joint to 'bag one up' for you? Then you have to go the to The Heart-Attack Grill.

Last Saturday night, my good friend, Johnny Wraith, came in from out of town to visit me. Around about seven-thirty, we decided to go out to get something to eat. We're simple folk, and so we wanted a simple meal. Johnny also enjoys a fun atmosphere, so he said, "I want to go somewhere we can get a hamburger, and see women [dressed in a sexy manner]."

Actually, what Johnny wanted to see was cleavage. No, I'm lying about that. I was trying to protect Johnny's reputation, I don't know why.

What he really said was, "I want to eat a burger, and see some boob." He can be such a caveman, at times.

It only took me about ten seconds before I came up with what I thought would be the ideal place to fulfill our needs: The Heart Attack Grill, at the southwest corner of the intersection of Thomas Road and 44th Street, in Phoenix. It has a rather interesting gimmick: all the waitresses dress in nurse's outfits, and the menu is very simple, being limited to burgers, fries, soft drinks, beer, and cigarettes.

It doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure out why it's called "The Heart Attack Grill."

Although I had never been there, I had driven by the place several times, and had heard rave reviews. It seemed like the perfect place to fill our bellies, and satisfy my curiosity about the place. I described what I knew about the place, subtly hinting that I wasn't going to offer any other options.

Johnny was all for checking out the place, so we we're off.

Arriving at THAG around seven forty-five pm, I was a little concerned to see that there were few cars in the parking lot. At first I feared that the place did not live up to it's reputation, and that people were staying away. Then I remembered that it wasn't even eight o'clock on a Saturday night. (The joint started to fill up around eight pm.)

Walking towards the door, we were greeted by two friendly waitresses as we passed the outdoor patio, and several more as we entered the building. I loved the decor: just about the only things inside were several long, industrial-type steel tables with bar stool seating. A mannequin dressed up as a nurse was posed in the front window. Clean and simple. Nothing to distract one from one's food, or dining companions.

Except for the waitresses, who as I've said before, were dressed in nurse's garb. Skimpy nurse's garb. Very skimpy... well, you get the point.

We sat outside on the patio, which was also simple: about nine or ten wrought iron tables, four-place tables with chairs. Again, nothing to distract me from the meal at hand.

Except for the waitresses in their skimpy outfits.

Our waitress, Samantha, looking very fetching in her nurse's uniform, was very friendly. First, she took our drink orders: A Pabst Blue Ribbon for Johnny, and a Coke (in the bottle - so rare!) for me. Returning with our drinks, Samantha took our food orders: a cheeseburger without onions for Johnny, a cheeseburger (with everything) and fries for me. After having barely enough time to take one or two sips from our respective bottles, our dinner was delivered.

Amazing! A sit-down, full service dinner at fast-food speed. How do they do it? It's pretty simple, really. I'll let Samantha explain:

"Our complete food menu consists of only cheeseburgers and fries. All of the patties weigh a half of a pound, and all are cooked 'well-done' for health safety reasons. The only variation available is how many patties you want on your burger: one, two, three or four."

"Let me guess," I interjected at this point, "you call them 'Bypass Burgers?'

"Yep. Single through quadruple bypasses."

Johnny and I both had ordered The Single Bypass, not wanting to need an actual quadruple bypass later in life.

I love this concept. Because of the uniformity of the orders, the cook can start slapping burgers on the grill as soon as someone walks in. By the time the food order reaches him, the meat is almost done.

"How are your burgers?" Samantha asked us a few minutes later.

"Delicious!", we replied, in unison.

"How about the fries?"

"I love them!", I said.

Johnny, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, grabbed a few fries off my plate, stuffing them into his mouth. He was speechless; and why not? After all, his mouth was full! But, he nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

With two more beers for Johnny, and another Coke for me, our bill came up to $31.00. Here's the breakdown (I only paid attention the price of the beers for sure; I'm guessing at the rest, but I think I'm real close, as the math come out okay):

Two Single By-Pass Burgers @ $6.50 ea= $13.00.
Three beers, @ $3.00 ea= $ 9.00
Two Cokes @ $2.00 ea=$ 4.00
One order of fries @ $3.00 ea=$ 3.00
Tax $ 2.00
Total: a very reasonable $31.00

When we left, Johnny and I agreed that The Heart-Attack Grill had been the perfect choice for our dinner outing. We loved the food, service and ambiance.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot; the view of the 'nurses' was great, also!

Heart-Attack Grill: I'll be back! Just as soon as I see a cardiologist.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Free Rice

2007-11-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

Did you know there is a way to improve your vocabulary and help provide free rice to the hungry people around the world?

I clipped the following story from another Blog, Taxi Tales, written by Bob, a cabbie in Barrow in Furness, Cumbria, UK:

Free Rice

Improve your vocabulary and donate rice to feed the hungry. Go on try it now, my rating was about 40, how well can you do? Click on the free rice link and get clicking now please.

FreeRice has two goals:

1. Provide English vocabulary to everyone for free.

2. Help end world hunger by providing rice to hungry people for free.

This is made possible by the sponsors who advertise on this site.

Whether you are CEO of a large corporation or a street child in a poor country, improving your vocabulary can improve your life. It is a great investment in yourself.

Perhaps even greater is the investment your donated rice makes in hungry human beings, enabling them to function and be productive.

Somewhere in the world, a person is eating rice that you helped provide.

Thank you.

I couldn't have said it better myself, Bob.

Folks, I've been to the Free Rice site a couple of times. It took me about 5100 grains of rice, but I finally achieved a rating of 50. Please take a few minutes each time you're on the 'Net, and go to "Free Rice." I've provided a link on my sidebar, in the section called "The Cab Guy's Web Favorites. It's a fun way to improve your vocabulary, and feed the hungry.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Danielle's Dilemma

2007-11-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

In my last post, "Date a Hot Phoenix Stripper," I asked the question: "How many of you guys out there would like to date a HOT PHOENIX STRIPPER?" This is because my friend Danielle, who is a hot stripper, is having trouble meeting a decent guy. I told her that I would find her a decent guy. Well, so far, no one has stepped up to the plate the help Danielle out.

This is not a joke! Danielle is a very nice girl, but because of what she does for a living, she has a very difficult time of meeting and dating decent guys.

You're probably wondering, "Well, Cab Guy, is Danielle is so nice and hot, why don't you date her?"

This is a valid question. Let me tell you, if I were about twenty-five years younger, I'd be 'all over it.' I guess you could say that I'm kind of an 'age bigot.' My preferred age range for the women to date is about thirty-five to fifty. Sadly, Danielle is much younger. Sigh!

So what do you say, guys? Do you want to date a hot stripper? Well, here's the rules:

Send me an email describing your proposed date with Danielle. I'll show her the all the emails that I get, and she'll pick her favorites. My recommendation: be creative and romantic!

Send your email to me at Supercabbie@gmail.com, with the subject header, "I Want to Date Danielle."

I promised Danielle that I'd find her a decent guy. Don't let me down, fellas.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Date A Hot Phoenix Stripper!

2007-11-10T02:00:00.000-07:00

I am just wondering: how many of you guys out there would like to date a HOT PHOENIX STRIPPER?

This isn't the setup to one of my ridiculous Cab Guy jokes: it's a legitimate question!

As your Cab Guy, having driven the mean streets of Phoenix for ten years, I have had the opportunity to meet literally hundreds of HOT PHOENIX STRIPPERS! I have become friends with many of them.

Do you want to know what most of them have in common? Believe it or not, they have trouble meeting decent men! That's right, I can hardly believe it myself! They're always asking me, "What do I have to do to meet a decent guy?"

Just tonight, my friend, Danielle, asked me this same question. You know what I told her?

"Danielle, I'll find you a decent guy!"

I've agreed with Danielle to set her up on a date with a decent guy. Do you want to be that guy? Help me out.

If you're out there, and would like to get to know a girl, not for what she does for a living, but who she is inside, here's want you need to do...

Send me an email describing your proposed date with Danielle. I'll show her the all the emails that I get, and she'll pick her favorites. My recommendation: be creative and romantic!

Send your email to me at Supercabbie@gmail.com, with the subject header, "I Want to Date Danielle."

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Semper Fidelis

2007-11-10T01:00:00.000-07:00

Today is the 232nd anniversary of the founding of the United States Marine Corps. I just wanted to let you all know this, if you didn't, and relate an amusing anecdote that shows how dedicated my Dad, a former Marine, was to his Beloved Corps.

The San Diego Marine Band plays John Phillip Sousa's Semper Fidelis.

My family moved to Phoenix after my dad retired as a Captain from the United States Marine Corps in 1971. At that time, my parents bought the first house they ever owned, or, for that matter, lived in for more than two years.

When the phone technician came to install our service, he asked my father if he would like to have a phone number with the last four digits holding special significance. He chose 1775, which was available.

Supposedly the tech said, "Don't you mean 1776, the year the USA became a country?"

"No," my Dad said, "I mean 1775, the year the United States Marine Corps was born!"

In 1979, I was to have entered the USMC through the PLC (Platoon Leader's Class) program. Sadly, I was disqualified by a back injury that occured just days before I was to have formally started the program. I remain, to this day, disappointed that I could not serve.

My dad died in 1989, but his beloved Corps lives on.

Semper Fi, Dad! Semper Fi, Marines!

To "The Few, The Proud, The Marines," Happy Birthday!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Flat Rates and Lawyers

2007-11-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

In the cab world, generally, when you work the really, really late hours, your customer base is radically different from the daytime sort. They tend to be wackier. That's why I prefer to work when the sun is in the sky. It helps preserve my sanity.

Last Monday evening I stayed out late to have a little fun at the Lone Butte Casino, south of Chandler on the Gila River Indian Reservation. After being there about an hour and a half, and losing some of my hard earned scratch at the blackjack tables, I figured that it just wasn't my night, and decided to go home. I cashed in my remaining chips, said goodbye to some of the dealers I knew, and headed for the parking lot.

I had come to the casino directly after work, and so I had my cab with me. I usually have my cab with me when I'm not working, for two reasons. Firstly, I'd rather run up the miles on the company's car, rather than my own; and secondly, I can go to work at a moment's notice. I don't mean to imply that I'm tied to the job, far from it. But if a personal customer should call, and wanted to put fifty dollars in my pocket for an hour of my time, then I wanted to be able to jump on it.

Anyway, I got into my cab, started it up, and began the thirty-minute drive back to my house. Just for laughs, I turned on the computerized dispatch system, just in case there were any calls close by. As luck would have it, there was a call in between the casino and my house, about five miles away. I went ahead and bid on it, and received it.

"Cool," I thought, "I'll be able to recoup a little of my losses, then go home."

It took me only about eight minutes to drive to the customer's house, but in that time he called the dispatcher two times to check on my ETA. Not a good sign. At least I knew he still wanted a cab. But he was very impatient. Impatient people can be a handful of work, to say the least. I really didn't want to deal with any kind of crap from this guy. I hadn't even met him, and I already didn't like him.

Arriving at the pickup address, "Peter" was standing outside, practically hopping up and down on one foot. I really hoped he didn't have to pee! Rolling down the window, I asked him the obvious:

"Are you Peter?"

"Sure am!"

Peter started to get into the car, and without even giving me his destination address, asked me the most insulting question you can ever ask a cabbie:

"Will you give me a flat rate of forty dollars?"

My usual response to the flat rate inquiry is a resounding, "NO!" But he had stated a dollar amount, without a drop address; maybe the fare would be less than forty. I had to check before saying no.

"Well, where do you want to go?"

"Bell Road and Tatum Boulevard."

"Sorry, no, that's about a fifty dollar fare."

"Well, you should do it for forty dollars, 'cause I'm a big tipper!"

"Yeah, I know all about those big tips. As a matter of fact, I can feel you trying to put your big tip in my bunghole. It's a fifty dollar fare, and if you want to go, then I want the money up front!"

"I'll pay you when we get there!"

"No, you'll pay me here, or you'll never get there. Let's not even start the whole 'don't you trust me?' debate, because, after you started our relationship with the whole flat rate issue, no I don't. Pay up, or get out!"

Not very appealing customer service, I know, but he wasn't a very appealing customer. And I was on a bit of a short fuse. Trust me, you had to be there. But after a few more seconds of verbal sparring, Peter finally gave me a hundred dollar bill as a surety against the fare. I turned on the meter, and we were off.

As it turned out, Peter, although he was a little drunk, was an okay guy. I say this even after finding out he was a lawyer. His idea of a compliment was to call me the biggest prick he had ever met. I didn't take offense, because coming from a lawyer, it is indeed praiseworthy to be a considered a prick. Plus, he told me up front that he considered being called a prick to be a compliment, so he thought he was being complimentary.

I told him I wasn't offended; he'd know right away if he ever stepped over the line with me.

"How so?", he asked.

"I'll pull over and let you walk. With no refund."

"My God, I so admire you! You are the biggest prick I've ever met, maybe could ever hope to meet!"

Are you starting to get the picture of what late night customers can be like?

"Well, Peter, you're not so bad yourself. But you need to work on your prick skills, 'cause frankly, you suck at it. I know of at least half a dozen lawyers with better fare negotiation skills than you have. Hell, at least two of them would have convinced me that not only should I pay the fare, but I should give them thirty-three percent of the action to boot. You've got a ways to go, kiddo. But I mean that as a compliment!"

"It didn't seem so complimentary to me."

Yeah, but it was okay for him to call me a prick, just because he thought calling someone a prick was a compliment.

"And by the way, cut me some slack on the negotiating thing, will ya? I passed the bar exam, but haven't even been admitted yet. I'm still learning."

"Fair enough."

Well, we had a pretty nice conversation for the thirty minutes or so it took to get him to his destination. And I really did begin to like Peter, even though he was a lawyer. He had a good, solid, if somewhat drunk and narcissistic, head on his shoulders. He probably will make a pretty good lawyer someday.

Pulling up to Peter's destination, the meter showed fifty dollars and fifty cents. I decided to cut him a little slack.

"Well, the fare is fifty dollars. You gave me a hundred, I owe you fifty."

"No, just go ahead and give me forty. Keep ten for yourself. I told you I was a bigger tipper."

"And so you are. Never doubted it for a moment!"

And so he was. It certainly was how odd, though. After all, he tried to cut his fare, and my wage, by twenty percent; but having failed in that endeavor, he tipped me to the tune of twenty percent. I'll never figure out people and their money issues.

As Peter exited the cab, I gave him my card, saying,

"Call me anytime. Hell, I might even give you a flat rate next time!"

"Hey," he said, "I take back everything I said about you being a prick. You're a hell of a nice guy!"

"Just joking, Peter. I never cut my fares for anyone. It hurts the wallet to much. But thanks for calling me a nice guy! It means a lot to me, coming from a newbie lawyer."

"Prick!", he exclaimed, while laughing. "Thanks for the ride, I really enjoyed it!"

"They always do," I thought. "They always do!"

See what I mean about the overnight customer base? You just never know what you're going to get.

Thanks for stopping by.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

World's Smallest Car?

2007-11-08T10:52:00.000-07:00

I wanted to take a little break from writing, but didn't want to deprive you, my Gentle Readers, the opportunity to see some sort of fresh content today. Check out this video of the Peel P-50, supposedly the world's smallest car.

Watch the video, then click "read more" for my comments.

Something you won't see in this video, which I discovered by watching another one, is that it does not have an electric starter. To start the engine, you have to pull on a starter rope, just like a gasoline powered lawn mover!

Also, the other video showed a "bubble top" version that was intended to be a two seater. However, it was no wider than the version shown in the video. The occupants looked rather cramped. But it also looked like they were having fun.

The gas mileage is excellent. If I could only figure out a way to take three or four additional people along with me, it would make a great, low-fuel alternative to the Ford Crown Victoria I use now. I wonder if I could persuade people to ride on the roof... or, how about they all climb in a little red wagon I could pull behind me?

Maybe not... but just thinking about it brought a smile to my face.

My hat's off to the Peel P-50. Now that's quite a car!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Update - (11/10/07, 01:18 AM) I just realised that if you click on the "Menu" button on the video gadget, and scroll the thumbnails, the fifth one from the left will show you the video of the sports version of the Peel, with some other interesting info. It's a fun video, also.

Ships in the Night

2007-11-07T23:30:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard the expression, "Like two ships passing in the night?" It's supposed to be romantic code for a situation where two people who are meant to be together never quite meet up. I used to think it was just a tired Hollywood cliche. But not anymore...

Done with a day of trying to grind out a living on the mean streets of Phoenix, I decided to try my luck over at the Greyhound Bus Station cab stand. At about eight in the evening, I pulled up to the station, saw another driver in the first position, so I parked in the "on-deck" area. I got out of the car, and walked over to the other driver, to catch up on the bus schedule, and the events of the day.

While we were talking, a young man of about twenty to twenty-three years of age came up to me. As the other driver was sitting in his cab's driver's seat, all ready to go, I tried to make the sale for him:

"Taxi, Sir?"

His answer was not a no, nor a yes either, but a geographic inquiry:

"How far is Tempe?"

"Depends on where you want to go in Tempe. But the closest part is about five or six miles away."

"Is there a Ross in Tempe?"

"You mean the clothing store?"

"Right."

"Yes, there is, at the Arizona Mills Mall, at the northeast corner of I-10 and Baseline Road."

From here, the conversation starts to go all over the map, so I'm going to cut it down quite a bit for the sake of brevity and sanity. Apparently he was supposed to meet his girlfriend, who worked at the Ross Clothing Store, and wanted to make sure he went to the right one. Later events proved that as our conversation was all over the map, so was his thinking. He should have just stayed at the station.

Opening the cab's passenger door, I said,

"So does this mean that you need a taxi to the Ross, sir?"

"Yes."

"Hop in," I said, pointing to the driver. "He'll take care of you."

As they started to take off, I walked back to my cab, to move it into the first-place spot. After doing so, I hung out around the side of the cab for a few minutes, then went inside the station for a moment. What for, I can't remember. Age, and, a hundred thousand road miles per year will do that to you.

I came outside to see a woman talking to a gentleman, who pointed me out and said,

"I think he's the driver."

I sprung into action.

"Need a cab ma'am?"

"Yeah, I need to go to the Arizona Mills Mall."

Opening the passenger door for the cab, I wondered if I had just heard her right. Was it possible... Naw! Couldn't be. It only happens in the movies. The woman, also of about age twenty to twenty-three got in the cab. I closed the door, and went around to the driver's side. Settling my more than amble rear-end into the seat cushions, I started the engine, and we were off.

"You know, the last guy who left out of here also went to the Mills Mall."

"Your last fare went to the Mall?"

"Well, he wasn't my fare, another driver took him. But I talked to him for a couple of minutes. He said he had to meet his girlfriend at Ross."

"I work at Ross!", she exclaimed."

Just then her cellphone rang. She had a brief conversation that ended with the words,

"I'll be there soon. Yeah, I love you too."

I resumed our conversation.

"Wow. That's kind of weird. What a coincidence. Some cabbie takes a guy to Ross, and you work there."

"The guy on the phone was someone I was supposed to meet at the Greyhound. I've been there since six o'clock, waiting for him to show up! I guess he left before I even got there, because he called me just a few minutes ago, and said he was at the Ross at Arizona Mills. But what's odd, I don't even work at that store. I used to, but not anymore."

Well, it was about eight-twenty right now.

"No, you must have misunderstood me. The fellow I was talking to left the Greyhound not ten minutes before you walked up to my cab. And you were there since six? What time was his bus supposed to have arrived."

"Five o'clock. For a while I thought maybe he had missed his bus, but just now on the phone he told me his bus got in on time, and he had been there waiting for me. He thought I worked at that Ross, and decided to just go meet me there."

"And you've been there since six? And didn't see him? Couldn't you have called him on his cellphone?"

"No, he doesn't have one. He called me from the phone of one of the Ross employees. They remember who I am, and must have trusted him."

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You two were going to meet at the bus station. His bus got there at five o'clock, and he was on it. You got there at about six, and never saw him. But he was there the whole time?"

"Yeah. Strange, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Just like two ships passing in the night," I thought.

Further conversation revealed that they had only seen each other once, several months ago, and she really only knew him from pictures and phone conversations. He came to visit her, I guess so they could get to know each other better. She told me that she had circled the station several times, and even had him paged, to no avail. Eventually, she gave up, and was about to go home, when he called her on her phone. Because she had been dropped off at the Greyhound by a friend, she needed a cab to go meet him at the Ross, across the street from where she lived, which is how I entered the picture.

Pulling into the mall, I went over to the Ross store. The young man I had last seen at the Greyhound, some thirty minutes ago, was sitting on a bench outside. The woman handed me a twenty for a sixteen dollar fare, and said to keep the change. Thanking me, she started to get out of the cab, then paused and said,

"I bet you see this type of thing all the time, don't you?"

"No ma'am, this is a new one to me. It's funny, and kind of romantically screwy all at the same time. Thanks for your business. I hope you two have a nice life. This will be quite a story for your grandchildren!"

She giggled and closed the door. I drove away, back to the Greyhound, laughing or giggling almost the whole way there. The experience had made my night.

I'm glad those two found each other. How many missed opportunities have we all experienced, because our ships had passed us in the night?

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Dude, Where's My Cash?

2007-11-06T21:45:00.000-07:00

Last night, after working the streets from mid-morning to early evening, I decided to go sit on the cab stand at the Greyhound Bus Station. I was hoping that I might make an extra fifty dollars or so, and not have to work too hard to do it. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!

However, like all good plans, sometimes the unforeseen creeps up on you, and you end up with something completely different from what you expected. If you're anything like me, sometimes you end up scratching your head and wondering, "How in the Hell did I not see that coming?"

Now, I'll be honest with you. When something unforeseen happens to me, it's usually negative, at least as far as my wallet can tell. And I'm usually not surprised by what happened, so much as disappointed that, through lack of foresight, I allowed it to happen. Here's a case on point.

At about six-fifteen in the evening, there were three cabs on the stand when the event that I'm about to describe had its' genesis. The drivers in first and third place were up by the main entrance, standing by the number-one guy's cab, talking to each other, and, I suppose, soliciting people for rides. I was in second position, sitting in my cab, about twenty-five yards away. I had a clear view of the front door action, but I was really not paying attention.

You know how when you're in a doctor's office, maybe reading the paper, not really noticing what's happening around you, until your name is called, and then you come to full attention? That's how it is for me. My peripheral vision was on guard; if it detected anything important, like a trunk lid going down, I'd know it was time to move up to first place.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw luggage going into the number-one cab. A man and a woman were both standing near the open passenger door. I started my engine, but waited until the cab started to roll before moving. The woman got into the cab, the number-three guy closed the door for her, and the cab started to roll. I moved towards home plate.

As soon as I got there, the number-three guy opened my passenger door, and said, "He's going to Mesa." A man started to get in my cab. I'm going to call him Ross. Why not? As it turned out, that was his name. I didn't find that out until later, but I have to call him something. I popped the trunk, but Ross said he wanted to keep his luggage in the back seat with him. I usually prefer all luggage to be in the trunk, for safety's sake, but I didn't object. I wish I had, because luggage not in the trunk may also be a "red flag."

Closing the trunk, number-three again said, "Mesa!"

When I asked Ross for specific cross-streets, he said, "Main and Roosevelt."

I put the car in gear, and we left the lot. I turned right, moved up to the red light, and waited to cross 24th Street to take a shortcut across the airport.

(No, really! Crossing the airport eastbound to Mesa saves at least two miles over the next shortest path. So the customer saves about four dollars. Sure, maybe it cuts into my income, but it's the right thing to do. And besides, I'd hate to be called out for a being chiseler for taking a longer route.)

While I sat there waiting, Ross said, "Take the I-10 around to Dobson Road."

Unless directed otherwise, I would only use the I-10 if the final destination was south of US 60, which is the southern route to Mesa, accessed via the I-10. His destination was north of the 60. I didn't want to argue; I just wanted to point out a cheaper option.

"But," I replied, "the 202 freeway is right in front of us on the other side of the airport. It's shorter to go that way."

"I don't know about the 202. Go on the I-10."

I thought to myself,

"What's to know?" It's shorter. Shorter is cheaper!"

But I kept my trap shut. His way would cost about nine dollars extra. Whatever; I really didn't care if he wanted to overcharge himself. Had I thought about it, I'd have seen another red flag on the field.

"Okay, sir," I said, as I turned towards the I-10. The voice at the back of my head said,

"Hey, there's two red flags on the field!"

But I wasn't paying attention. Had I done so, you wouldn't be reading this story. Because it would be boring. Not paying attention to the voice in my head brought on the excitement.

Getting on the I-10, we went a few miles east to the US 60 east, then cruised towards Mesa. Over the next few miles, I wondered if he really wanted me to go all the way to Dobson Road. After all, I could take the 101 north to Main, then go east to Roosevelt. It's shorter, and avoids the road work at Dobson and Main, and removes the need to backtrack to Roosevelt. This would save about a mile and a half, and three dollars.

"Screw him!", I thought. He chose the long way. I'll let him tell me different if he wants. It was his look-out. He stayed mute. I drove on.

Exiting the freeway at Dobson, I drove north to Main. Unable to turn left at Dobson onto Main, I had to go north to a side street, then west to Roosevelt, then south, again crossing Main.

Okay, maybe this story seems a little long, just to get us to his destination. But I wanted you to get the feel for what was going on. The tedium of the longer trip, his disregard for his wallet, me ignoring the red flags. But I promise you, you'll love the rest of the story. I didn't know it at the time, but somebody was going to jail!

Spoiler alert: Not me!

Ross had me turn into an apartment complex, then park. This is where things started to get interesting.

"That will twenty-nine dollars, please," I said.

"Rather than about twenty!," I thought.

Gathering up his things, Ross pointed out the window, and said, "You see that apartment over there? That's where I'm going to get the money."

"Fine. Just leave your baggage here, as collateral until you get back."

"Why, don't you trust me?"

"Why should I? I just met you!", I thought.

"It's a standard practice in the taxi world. This way, I know you're coming back."

"But I don't trust you with my stuff."

"But I have to trust you not to run off without paying?"

"Well, I think you'd be treating me different if I wasn't a black man!"

So now we're playing Sociological Poker, and he just played the Race Card!

"Look, sir, just leave your stuff, go get the money, come back, and pay me off. I'm not out here working for stuff, I'm working for money. You're wasting my time. By the way, you need to know that the meter runs until you pay me off. We're up to twenty-nine fifty now."

"You can't let the meter run when the trip is over!"

Legally, the trip isn't over until he pays me off, and I can go back to work. If you thing about it, it makes sense. Since he's keeping me from draining another wallet, I get to take it out of his.

"Not true. I can. I do. I will."

"How come?"

"It serves to encourage you not to waste my time," I thought.

"It serves to encourage you not to waste my time," I said. "Please just go get the money, and we'll be done. Okay?"

He continues to get out of the cab, taking his stuff with him.

"Sir, leave your stuff, or I call the police."

"I'm coming right back!"

He keeps going.

"You're acting like you won't."

"So go ahead and call the police!"

"Okay. Got them right here on speed dial."

He walks away, with me in trail. I tell the police operator what's going on. She says an officer is on the way, and she'll stay on the line with me until he arrives. Meanwhile, Ross passes all the apartments that he could have been pointing at earlier. I follow, telling him what's about to happen.

"Sir, when the police get here, they will confirm that you have to pay what's on the meter, and that if you don't you won't like the result. Unless you like going to jail"

He turns to walk back to the cab. I turn with him.

"You gonna just keep following me?"

"Sure am. By the way, we passed the apartment you pointed at earlier."

He continued to walk away from me.

"You just did it again. Cut the crap. I know you're lying about living here."

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"The way you're acting. That, and the fact that your lips are moving."

We came near the cab again.

"Okay, I'm gonna leave my stuff here by the cab, and go get the money. Don't put it in the trunk."

He left his stuff, and walked off between two buildings, towards a fence, on the other side of which was another apartment complex. I followed, watching him go around behind a building, and up and over the fence.

"Well, that does it! Your stuff goes in the trunk, and I'm going out to the street to wait for the PD!", I called out.

After a few minutes, an officer shows up.

I fill him in on what happened, and opened the trunk to show him what was inside, which was two suitcases and a shoebox...

"Have you looked at any of this?"

"No, sir, I was waiting for you. I didn't want to accused to stealing his stuff."

"Okay. Well, let's see what we've got. By the way, did he give you a name?"

"No, for the purposes of this story, I've just been referring to him as Ross."

Well, of course I didn't say this; just my idea of a joke. Sorry.

He opened one of the bags, and pulls out a Greyhound Bus receipt.

"It says here that his name is Ross," the officer says.

"Imagine that!", I reply.

Another joke. I'll stop. I promise.

Do you want to guess what else was in his luggage? No, not dope. But you're close. Except for eight shoeboxes, almost nothing else. Each box contained a pair of one hundred and fifty dollars-plus per pair Nikes. All brand new. Dope for basketball players.

The guy had almost a thousand dollars worth of brand new shoes, but won't pay his cab fare? What the eff?

At this time, "The Man I've Been Calling Ross" comes out the gate of the complex he took me into.

"Dude, where's my cash?", I ask.

"I got your money."

"Are you Ross?" This from the officer.

"Yeah. I got his money right here. Thirty dollars and fifty cents."

"Well, his meter's now at thirty-eight dollars. You got that much?"

"No, I don't. The meter was at twenty-nine fifty when I got out of the cab. I got an extra dollar here for him. That's all I'm paying."

"Unacceptable!", I interjected.

"What's your story, Ross?", asks the officer.

Ross starts babbling.

"Well, you see it went like this. I don't want to make this racial, but I have a feeling he'd be treating me different if I wasn't a black man..."

He blathered on, telling substantially the same story I had. Omitting the part where he jumped over the fence, of course.

The officer responded.

"Well, Ross, it's seems to me you made it racial. But that's neither here nor there. You gonna pay the man?"

"I'm only gonna give him thirty dollars and fifty cents."

"Unacceptable!", I interjected.

"Is that your final answer, Ross?", the officer asked.

"Yes!"

"Unacceptable!", I interjected.

"Okay, you're under arrest!"

"ME!", I exclaimed. "What did I do?"

"Not you, sir. Ross."

"ME!", he exclaimed. "What did I do?"

"Theft of services. Your actions, as described by The Cab Guy, and confirmed out of your own mouth, are proof enough for me."

He cuffed Ross, who started to complain about wanting to speak to the officer's sergeant.

"Don't worry about it. He'll be here soon. Meanwhile, get in the back of my car. Watch your head."

Well, I'm going to cut out all the boring details about what happened when the sergeant and some other officers arrived. Suffice it to say, while talking to the sergeant, Ross changed his story, including where he lived (which, as it turned out was the complex on the other side of the fence), at least three times.

But there is one final, interesting, detail. It turned out that Ross had an outstanding warrant for his arrest. He should have been avoiding the police. Why did he engage in an activity that pratically guaranteed that he'd come to their attention? Who knows. You'll have to ask Ross. Visiting hours are four to eight p.m.

If he had stayed inside his apartment, he'd have never been found. Later, he could have called the cab company, and gotten his stuff back after paying the fare.

But that's not how the Rosses of the world think. They're all smarter than we are, and are understandably confused when we don't recognize this.

Now, follow me on this. See, Ross tried to help himself to a free ride. When he saw that wouldn't work, he offered to pay what he originally owed me. He figured I just suck it up, take the thirty dollars and fifty cents, and let it go at that. What do we call this? Upside reward, with no downside risk.

But Ross didn't figure on having to deal with me. As a matter of fact, he even told me at one point:

"I thought the black guy (number-one cabbie) would be taking me."

Did he really think a black cab driver would be okay with being ripped off? Talk about racial discrimination!

But I know the law. It's almost a dead lock that he will be convicted, and forced to pay restitution, for the full amount of the meter, which by the time the whole thing was over, was over fifty-five dollars. He'll even be forced to pay compensation for any additional lost income, should I have to go to Court to testify. He probably won't get his shoes back until he coughs up the cash.

True story: six months ago I got a check for $196.00 from Tempe City Court, restitution imposed on an offender in a similar situation that happened about a year ago. And that started as an eleven-dollar fare!

See, for me, by standing my ground, even at the risk of Ross' arrest, I knew I'd be paid what I was owed. Either that night in full, or later time, with interest. (Remember the lost wages thing?)

What do we call that? Upside reward, with no downside risk.

So here's the moral of the story:

"If you're Red, or White, or Black, or Yellow;
Just give me my Green, and I'll be mellow!"

Thanks for stopping by.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Scabbie Cabbie

2007-11-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

Hey, how are you doing? I'm glad to see you! Hop in, let's go for a ride. Don't worry about the meter: this one's on me.

The company that I work for has a contract with the local Greyhound Bus Station for one of its brands (I'll just refer to this brand as XYZ Cab) to be the exclusive supplier for on-site cab service. What this means is that any driver of an XYZ Cab, if driving a properly authorized XYZ Cab unit, and in posession of a special ID, may sit at the cab stand at the Greyhound Bus Station, and wait in line for customers. All these conditions must be met in order for the driver to wait on the stand. If for some reason he forgot his ID, or doesn't have one in the first place, he may not be there, even if driving an XYZ Cab. Drivers of the company's other brands may not use the stand. Likewise, drivers for other companies may not use the stand.

As a matter of fact, if they're not "stand qualified" they may not even be on the property at all, unless dropping someone off; in this event, they must leave as soon as their passenger exits the cab. If, in the event that a Greyhound customer calls another company to pick them up, that driver may enter the property in order to pick up that particular customer, but must then promptly leave.

Greyhound, because they own the property, has the right to control who has casual access to their property and customers, and dictate the terms of cab driver qualifications. They recognize that some people may not like XYZ CAB, so of course, those people have the option of using other brands, if they initiate the call. I think this is a good system. XYZ Cab is one of the largest brands in the Phoenix market, and one of the most reputable. We who are sstand-qualified drivers self-police the activities of ourselves, and others who may attempt to circumvent the rules of the site.e do this to protect our company's investment in their partnership with Greyhound, and to ensure a high-quality level of service. Our drivers, on average, have not just good, but excellent, driving records; our cabs are properly licensed and insured; and our cars are maintained to very high standards. I wish the same could be said of every other cab company in the Phoenix Metro market, but it can't.

I happen to think that the customer has the right to choose any cab company they wish. If not mine, fine - bust out a quarter for the phone, and call some other company. Just remember, that other company that charges twenty or thirty cents less per mile may not maintain its cabs as well as we do. Or carry proper insurance. Or ensure that they have safe drivers. When the newspapers report problems in the taxi industry, our company is typically not named as having any violations (usually, any noted violations are minor ones), and is routinely held up, with another large company, as a model of the industry.

That's what your extra twenty cents per mile buys: safety and reliability. And more than that: a certain level of security. Some of the "scab cabs" that try to sneak in are even cabs at all. They're just private cars owned by private drivers, who may not even have valid driver's licenses, or even any kind of insurance, let along a proper level of coverage.

So why did I bring all of this up? To provide some background, context if you will, for the real story: The Scabbie Cabbie.

This last Sunday afternoon, I was first in line down at the Greyhound, waiting for a fare. To help prevent scab cab "scooping" (which is when an unauthorized cab attempts to steal a fare), the first guy in line parks his cab right in front of the door. (Up to an additional three other cabs may park about twenty-five yards away in specially marked spaces.) So there I am, waiting for the opportunity to make a little scratch, when I notice a cab from another company (which has had numerous Weights and Measures violations) parked on the far end of the lot. This is absolutely unacceptable, but I'm not one to jump froggy right off. I flashed my lights at him several times, waited a minute, and flashed my lights again, thinking that he'd realize that he'd been spotted, take the hint, and hit the road. He didn't.

Generally, I would have preferred to let the Greyhound security officer deal with the infraction, so that it wouldn't look personal, but I couldn't find him. So I walked over to the other driver, to remind him he couldn't stay on the lot, whatever the reason. (Now that I think of it, this last isn't strictly true: it is possible that a cabbie might bring someone to the station to pick up some baggage, or a friend; that customer would then exit the cab, conduct their business, and then get back in the same cab and leave. If this was the case, the driver would leave his meter on to show what he was doing. If anyone complained, all he'd have to do would be to go get his customer, and have that person confirm his story.) I noticed that he was on his cell phone, but his meter was not turned on. To be polite, I waited for him to finish his call, then I started to talk.

"You know you can't stay here, don't you?"

"Fxxx-you, I'll do what I want. I dropped a guy off here, and I'm waiting to see if he can get a ticket," the scabbie cabbie says to me. "I have the right to drop people off, or pick them up if they call me!"

Two things here. In the first place, I didn't appreciate that the very first word out of his mouth was "Fxxx." But I maintained my cool. In the second place, unless the ticketing machines are broken, you can always get a ticket. As a matter of fact, this is true even if the machines are broken: Greyhound staff will hand-write a ticket if need be. So this was a pathetic lie: I know the guy isn't coming back. But I maintained my cool.

"Of course you're absolutely correct on those points," I reply. (I actually did phrase it that way. Sometimes I'm subject to "putting on airs.") "The problem is, you dropped him off, and until, and if, he calls you back, you have to leave. I know you know this. Please leave the property, and wait off site for his call."

He has to leave: it's not just a dumb rule. This is to prevent people from just walking up to him, who he can then claim as "the customer I jut dropped off." Besides Greyhound wants it this way, and, like I said, that's their right.

"Fxxx you, you can't tell me what to do. I go where I want, and do what I want! Now just take your fat ass back to your cab, and leave me alone.

Again with the F-bomb, and a personal attack. Now it's on!

"Okay fine, I'll just have security handle this, you immature, foul-mouthed little child."

I turned to walk away. He started his car, and proceeded to leave the lot, but I guess he couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Fat Ass!"

Okay. It's true, I have a fat ass. I don't deny it. I'm not proud of it, but it doesn't really bother me. The way I see it, if you know I have a fat ass, it meant to looked at my fat ass. Like they say in show business: a bad review is still a review!

"Thanks for noticing. I appreciate it!", was my parting shot.

You might think that would be the end of it, but if you've read any of my other stories, you know it isn't.

As luck would have it, I immediately secured a fare, and left the property, turning right onto the street, and then moving over to make a left turn. Scabbie Cabbie was several cars ahead. He must have noticed me, because after making the turn, he moved into the right hand lane, and let me pass him on the left. I expected an uncomplimentary remark as I passed, but didn't get one. After I passed, he pulled in behind me. I could guess what he was doing, and you probably can, too, especially if you know, as some of you do, that the phone number to the company complaint line is pasted on my rear bumper.

Within a few minutes, my dispatcher asked me to call the Road Supervisor. The coincidence was exquisite. It had to be about the scabbie cabbie. I was not disappointed.

After informing me of the complaint, in which the other driver characterized his own behavior as polite, and mine as foul-mouthed and out of control, he asked if I had any response.

So I told him my side of the story. You know what I mean: the truth.

Well, of course he believed me, and told me not to worry about it.

"I figured it was something like that," he said. "But I have to investigate every complaint, even if on the face of it, it smells fishy. You did absolutely the right thing. Just do it that way every time, and we'll be able to keep things under control down there!"

The final score at the end of the game? Your Cab Guy: 1; Scabbie Cabbie: 0!

A win always feels good.

Well, here we are, back where I picked you up. Now you know why the ride was free: you didn't actually get anywhere!

Thanks for listening, please exit on the curbside, and I hope that you have a nice day!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Take That Horn and Shove It!

2007-11-04T16:25:00.000-07:00

Hi there! Thanks for stopping by once again. It does my heart good to see that some people have an interest in what I have to say. Today I wish to relay to you my distress at how I think that car horn use today has gotten completely out of hand.

In the old days, when the earth was green and the air was clean, it seemed like people really understood what the car horn was for, because they only used it in one of the three ways that God had intended: to remind, to warn, and to announce their presence.

Let's say you were second in line at a red light. The light turns green, but the driver ahead of you doesn't go, even though it appears that the intersection is clear, and there is no reason he cannot. A short, friendly, single-toot would be appropriate to remind the driver in front of you that the light had changed to green. To keep it friendly, you, as the driver behind, would have had an obligation to wait at least two seconds since the light became green; otherwise, you'd have been considered an impatient son-of-a-bitch. This short single-toot would have said, "Possibly you haven't noticed that the light changed, but it is green now, and it's time for all of us to move on. Thank you."

Now suppose you were coming upon a driveway where another driver was backing out, into on-coming traffic. Possibly he sees you, possibly not. To remove any doubt, and provide a friendly warning, a short double-toot of the horn would have served to say, "Hey, I'm here; just wanted to say hello. Thanks for not hitting me." Nobody's feelings were hurt when they heard the double-toot; they were grateful that someone else was watching out for them. Also, the driver who had used his horn would also be ready to apply the brake, or steer out of the way, just in case the warning wasn't heeded.

Now, suppose you had a date for Saturday night. And, suppose you were supposed to pick your date up at eight o'clock sharp. And further suppose that you really didn't want to have to interact with her family, especially her father. In cases such as these, a long double-toot, or a horny rendition of "shave-and-a-hair-cut-two-bits", would have served to let your date know you had arrived, and were waiting for her. It also had the possibly happy side benefit of pissing off her father.

These were the only three socially approved methods of using the car horn. Oh, sure, there were variations on a theme. If, after the single-toot was given, and two more seconds went by, and the guy ahead of you still hadn't moved, then you could go up to the longer double-toot. And the full-on blare after another two seconds. But it was considered bad form, and totally inappropriate, to start with the full-on blare.

But it seems like these days that people's use of the horn has gotten completely out of control. And, it's use in situations that don't really make any sense is proliferating like wildfire.

Here's a few examples of what I'm talking about:

Two days ago, I was sitting first in line, waiting for a green light. Now, remember what green means? No, it does not mean "Go." It means, "Proceed when the intersection is clear, and it is safe to do so." If more people would remember this, we'd have fewer people get hurt and their cars bent because they lept out into on-coming traffic on the say-so of a green light. So, anyway, back to my situation: the light changed to green, but I could see that there was a cross-traffic car about to enter the intersection. Less than a second after getting the green, but long before it was safe to proceed, the guy in the car behind me started to blare his horn. Not a short, single toot, or a friendly double-toot, but a full on, ugly, "What the fuck are you waiting for, you dumb son-of-a-bitch?" blare. HOOOOONNNNNK! I ignored him, keeping my foot firmly on the brake-pedal. Naturally, he did not apologize when he saw the offending cross-traffic car run the red light. When the coast was clear, I waved at the guy behind me, and went on my merry way. He didn't wave back.

Yesterday afternoon, I was moving at about five miles per hour below the speed limit, northbound on Scottsdale Road, about to turn into a parking lot that was about a hundred yards up on my right. I put my turn signal light on about fifty-yards before my turn, and started to apply the brake as appropriate. Just as I started to turn, this jerk behind me started laying into his horn, blaring it for a least three seconds. What the Hell did he intend to say in this instance? "Get out of my way?" I was trying to do just that! Did he think that maybe I was moving too slow?

Sorry, but that's what I do when I'm about to make a turn: I slow down. His use of his horn certainly wasn't supposed to serve as a warning, or a least not as a useful warning, that he was back there. It's not my responsibility to worry about traffic that's behind me, but ahead of me. That's why God put our eyes in the front of our heads, so that we could see where were going, not where we've been. If his use of the horn was to let me know he was pissed off, frankly I don't care. If he thought I slowed down to abruptly, he shouldn't have been tailgating. If he thought I was moving to slow, he should have just gone around. The power to change his circumstance was in his hand, not mine. The appropriate place for his horn, in this insstance, was up his ass. After all, that's where his head was.

My final example is also the most illogical. I'm sure this has happended to you. You're tooling down the freeway, at a reasonabe and prudent rate of speed. You decide that you want to change lanes, so that you can go a faster, but still reasonable and prudent, speed. You look into your mirrors to see if the coast is clear. The closest car behind you in the next lane over is at least seventy-five yards back, and moving at a steady rate, equal to yours. You put your blinker on, and proceed to move into the adjacent lane. You've moved all of half a car width over, when all of a sudden, you hear a car horn blare. Looking to your mirror, you see that the car that was seconds ago seventy-five yards back, is now right on your bumper. The driver is using the horn as if to say, "Hey, you cut me off!"

Listen carefully to me. If you're the dillweed who was driving the car behind me, yeaterday, westbound on the 202 at about noon-time, then you are one rude, ignorant, horse's ass. Until I decided to move into the lane you were in, but seventy-five yards ahead of you, you were fine with your speed and position in traffic. But, as soon as I put on my blinker, you decided that you just had to go faster, and so decided to accelerate, either to prevent me from moving over, or cow me back into the lane I was first in. I don't care how loud and long you blasted your horn. You're the asshole, and nothing can change that. You couldn't have cared a rat's hairy ass about the space ahead of you, until you saw that I wanted it. Then, like a spoiled little baby who only wants the toy that some other child wants, you raced up to cut me off.

I'm not fooled in the least. Again I say, I don't care how long and loud you honk your horn. I'm not moving back. As a matter of fact, bring it on: rear-end me. I don't care. I've been rear-ended before, by people better than you. As to the horn: all it does is let everyone around you know what a pissy-brat baby you are. Kiss my ass! And while you're down there, do me a favor, and tie my shoelaces. But first, let me get my boot out of your ass, jerk!

This is a plea to retun to the golden days of driving, when everyone was much more civil. Please, be less horny out on the road.

In the bedroom, it's just fine.

Thanks for listening.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Happy Birthday, Mom

2007-11-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

Well, hello again! Thanks for stopping by. Good to see you.

Today is a special day in the life of my mother, Arlene. Yes, yes, it's true, cab drivers do have mothers. Mostly. Except the one's that are the Demon Spawn of Satan. They're not born, they're hatched. Sans mama.

My Mom is seventy-five years old today, having been born on November 3, 1932. Happy birthday, Mom! I love you very much, and hope you have many more.

Several years ago, she told me that she has a goal of living to be 100 years old. Given that she takes care of herself, eats right, and gets regular check ups, I'd say that she has a real good shot of accomplishing this goal.

May I, and my blog, last long enough to memorialize that event.

Here's to living right, and living long!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Three-Way on the Freeway - Part Three

2007-11-02T20:48:00.000-07:00

Hello again. Thanks for stopping in for the conclusion to the "Three-Way on the Freeway" series. Here's a recap of the story thus far:

Part One: One Tuesday night in July of 2001, I was hanging out with a bunch of other cabbies, discussing things we'd like to see happen in our cabs. Someone mentioned that he'd like to see people having sex in the back of his cab. Several people agreed with this guy. I disagreed, considering this to be my nightmare. The very next night, Wednesday, my nightmare came true. Arriving outside of a suburban nightclub at about midnight, I discovered that my customers were waiting off to the side of the building. On the ground. Having sex.

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 1"

Part Two: Before we even left the parking lot of the Tiajuana Country Club, the two lovebirds started going at it. Their passion became more and more intense. Meanwhile, I kept up an internal monologue designed to help me stay focused. This worked fine for a while. Then it happened. My personal space was invaded.

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 2"

And now, the rest (truly) of the story...

So here I am, barreling down Interstate 10 at sixty-five miles an hour, with a couple of apparent sex-addicts in the back seat of my cab, humping like a pair of mad bunny rabbits hopped up on crack and Viagra. As if it wasn't distracting enough to have to listen to their animal noises of lust, and contend with the motion of the car in three dimensions (forwards due to the motive power of the engine, and back-and-forth, and up-and-down due to their wild sexual gyrations), now I had to deal with the additional distraction of the the nympho grabbing my seat. What next? Were they going to roll down the window and hang out, tongues flapping in the wind, like a couple of puppies on a Sunday ride?

I wish. At least then, with just a simple jerk of the wheel, they'd be hurled from the car, and from my life. Sure, I wouldn't collect the fare. But I was confident I could avoid manslaughter charges.

"Hey, Officer, I'm sorry they fell out of the car. Truly, I am. But everything happened so fast. They rolled down the window, started hanging out and before I knew what was going on, I had to swerve to avoid some road debris. It's a damn shame that they fell out, and died, and all of that. But what could I do? It was just so completely unexpected! By the way... did you happen to get a look at her rack? Niiiice!"

Sure, Joe Law might have his doubts about my sincerity, but what could he prove? That would be my story, and I'd stick with it.

Would I really do something like this? Well... probably not. But it's kind of fun to think about it, don't you agree?

Anyway, the Ballerina grabbed on to my seat back to steady herself while she rode the Convict like he was the last helicopter out of Viet Nam. Hard, fast, and low, dodging anti-aircraft fire all the way to the coast. This was really becoming tiresome. But I'm a professional. I just had to get these two sexual neutron bombs to the university, collect the fare, and move on with my life.

All at once, he bucked so hard that she was thrown up into the headliner, striking her head. Pausing momentarily to rub her noggin, I has a brief respite from the distraction of her yanking on my seat back. But a few seconds later, after she recovered from the blow to her melon, she moved to place her hand back on my seat.

And missed, grabbing my shoulder instead. And started to massage it. In the blink of an eye, I had gone from being in the car with them, to being part of their act.

I was part of a Three-Way on the Freeway.

Her hand upon my should started to meander. Towards my neck. Up my neck. Through the hair at the back of my head, to the hair at the top of my head. She ran her hand through my hair for several seconds, and then must have realized what she was doing, because she removed it. Probably because King Dong grabbed her, and maneuvered her around to the bottom of their personal dog pile.

"At last," I thought. At least that distraction was gone. With just a few more miles to go, it looked as if the coast was almost clear. But I still had to bring this train wreck in for a landing.

I pulled off of the freeway, and turned onto Mill Avenue, aiming the car straight at the university. Just two more miles to go, more or less. Things were calming down a bit in the backseat. Maybe they were through.

Almost as if they were reading my thoughts, and wanted to prove me a liar, things started heating up a bit. Switching positions once again, they renewed their energetic gym-nasty-ics. With a twist. She placed her legs straight up in the air. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I noticed that she was wearing boots. Black. Calf-length. With three-inch heels. Should she decide to kick someone, those things could be deadly.

Monkey boy started plunging up and down between her legs as if he was drilling for oil in the Saudi Arabian desert. Naturally, each time he went down, he displaced her legs to the side. The deeper he went, the further apart her legs went. Closer and closer her boot came towards my head. Would I survive the last three blocks to their destination? I was beginning to have grave doubts. But things had gone on too long. I had let events spin too far out of control.

Wham. Her leg hit the head rest on the top of my seat, jarring me slightly. Oh heck, that wasn't as bad as I had feared. Then it happened again, slightly harder. Again, harder. Again. And again. And again. The rhythm on my headrest became a steady staccato on the head rest. These boots were made for stomping.

Wham... wham... wham... wham... It was if some giant, insane woodpecker had flow into my cab, and was drilling my seat as if looking for dinner. Wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... WHAM!!

Because she had shifted slightly, her boot missed the head rest, and landed squarly on my brain-case. This was too much! I had to do something! Quickly, before her boot clocked me again.

Thinking fast, I did the only thing I could think of in the heat of the moment. Glancing at the side-view mirror, because the rear-view was occluded, I saw that the coast was clear. I slammed on the brakes, tumbling the lovebirds off the seat, onto the floor of the car.

They apparently did not notice that anything was amiss, because they kept going at it like a couple of frantics minks. But at least I was safe from a possible concussion. And only one block from the end of the trip.

And good thing too, as I had only one block left of my sanity.

Pulling into the driveway of the dormitory they had named as their desination, I was almost free from my nightmare. Just a few yards to go. The action in the back was reaching a crescendo. Mere feet from the entry to the dormitory, they both sighed their final sighs, groaned their final groans, and moaned their final groans.

How had they managed to time the climax of their passion play so perfectedly? Had they done this before? Surely I would have heard the rumor!

I really didn't care. Approaching the door, I slowed to a stop. I could hear them rearranging their clothes. Glancing at the meter, I was about to announce the fare. But, before the words were out of my mouth, the were both out of the car like a shot. They walked behind the car, towards the doorway. I knew that it was an automatic locking door. Should they get through it, I would be unable to follow. Were they trying to stiff me? As if!

I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, and hopped out of the cab, intercepting them at the back of the car, between them and the door.

"Hey! How about something for the effort? This isn't a hobby for me. It's my living!"

Looking sheepish, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Orange Jumpsuit reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. The Ballerina peered through the rear window, to look at the meter.

"The meter says nineteen. Give him thirty. He was a good sport," she said.

My heart began to melt. All of a sudden I was willing to forgive her for kicking me in the head, unintentional as it might have been. We both watched as he opened his wallet, sliding out a ten and twenty. She looked away. He slid the ten in with his thumb, and skinned out a five, as if he had practiced this grifters trick.

Sonuvabitch! I know I should have called him out on it, but I just wanted to be done with them. I took the money, and put it in my pocket. He looked at me, grinned, looked away, and headed for the door. She started to join him, but paused for her parting words:

"I hope we didn't distract you too much."

Sucking it up, I lied. At first.

"It's okay. There was no harm done. Up until the point when your boot hit me in the back of my head!"

She laughed, and headed for the door.

I couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Hey? How 'bout next time you get a room? I'm a cabbie, not a hotelier, for crying out loud!"

The door closed on their laughter.

I got in the car, sighed, turned off the meter, put the car in gear, and drove away.

Surely, the rest of the night would be all down hill. My nightmare was over.

Thanks for listening. I just had to get that off my chest.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Three-Way on the Freeway - Part Two

2007-11-01T22:47:00.000-07:00

Hi there. Thanks for stopping by again. Welcome to part two of "Three-Way on the Freeway." Please allow me to recap the story thus far:

One Tuesday night in July of 2001, I was hanging out with a bunch of other cabbies, discussing things we'd like to see happen in our cabs. Someone mentioned that he'd like to see people having sex in the back of his cab. Several people agreed with this guy. I disagreed, considering this to be my nightmare. The very next night, Wednesday, my nightmare came true. Arriving outside of a suburban nightclub at about midnight, I discovered that my customers were waiting off to the side of the building. On the ground. Having sex.

"Take your time," I said. "I'll wait over by the cab!"

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 1

And now, the rest (almost) of the story...

I really wasn't looking forward to this trip. Having spent a good portion of my adult life working in the field of Criminal Justice, I had learned a thing or two about human psychology. This enabled me to make some fairly accurate assumptions regarding a person's future behavior based upon a behavioral snap-shot taken at the moment I first meet them. Anyone can do this when the behavioral clues are screaming at them. But what if the clues are more subtle?

For example, that two people were having sex, in a relatively open place, is not the clue that needs to be examined. This is just an overt behavior, which in reality, doesn't really say much about the participants. The clue that needs to be keyed in on? How did they react when they were discovered?

When I came upon them, a more "normal" reaction might have been one of surprise, and embarrassment or shame. In this case, I would have expected an exclamation like "Oh, shit!", followed by a desperate attempt to cover themselves up, with maybe a "We'll be with you in a moment!" thrown in for good measure. This would have told me that they really hadn't expected to be discovered. A valid expectation on their part? No, but in the throes of passion, when the little head does the thinking for the big head, reality is often denied, and people do weird things in weird places. Like full bore, man-on-top-woman-on-bottom sex. On the ground. Off to the side of a nightclub in a white bread, suburban neighborhood.

But these two didn't react that way. They were nonchalant. They didn't care that they might be discovered, the proof being that actually being discovered was no big deal to them. I'm not saying they were hoping to be discovered, although that might have been part of their plan. They didn't care that they might be discovered because they really didn't care about what anyone else thought about them.

That they really didn't care about what anyone else thought about them also meant that they really didn't care about anyone else's feelings. What about my feelings of surprise, embarrassment and shame?

You might be saying, "So what's the big deal. Get over it. Don't be such a cry-baby. They we just having sex, for Pity's sake. Man up, and move on."

Fine. Your reaction is a valid one, unless you've put more thought into the situation, like I have. What about my other feelings, like the need to feel comfortable and safe with someone that I just met? Who's sitting behind me as I drive down the street. Inches from the back of my neck. How can I feel like I'm in control, in the presence of someone who's behavior is so clearly out of control?

Feel differently now?

I'm not saying I was scared, far from it. Just creeped out. But I would have been more comfortable with these folks if they had just waited inside the bar for me, like "ordinary" people do. Now, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn't have long to wait.

To my surprise, they got to the cab almost before I did, and hopped right in, as if nothing untoward at all had just happened. I got a better look at them. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, like people in jail might wear. She was dressed in a frilly, "foofy" dress, almost like a ballerina's tutu. Odd. It wasn't Halloween, and I didn't think that the nightclub was hosting a masquerade ball.

"Where too?", I asked.

"Over by the university," he replied.

I started the meter, and away we went.

The parking lot wasn't overly large, but there were a lot of curbs to negotiate before I could get to the street. Glancing in the rear-view mirror just before turning onto Ray Road, I could see they were already going at it, necking up a storm.

"As long as it's just kissing, and maybe some fondling, it'll be okay," I remember thinking. I wouldn't have to talk to them, in that case. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I accelerated east towards I-10. The university was about tewlve miles away, a fifteen minute trip, more or less, if traffic was light. Maybe it would be an uneventful trip after all.

But you already know what I was about to learn. It would not be an ordinary cookie-cutter trip. How do I know that I know that you know this? Well, obviously there would not really be a story if all they did was make-out the whole way. The title of this story isn't "Couple Found Humping Outside Nightclub." It's "Three-Way on the Freeway."

We weren't even a mile down the road before the floorshow started. Their fumbling and groping at one another became more and more frantic. It was so intense that the car was actually rocking. He pushed her down onto the seat, and got on top of her. Someone opened his zipper. He groaned, she moaned. She sighed, he grunted. The car started moving up and down, as if we were going over a series of speed bumps.

I started giving myself a pep-talk.

"Ignore them. You're a professional. Keep your eyes forward, and concentrate on what you're doing. This'll be over soon enough. Gut it out. This probably won't be as bad as the time you had to drive thirty miles with a woman in labor. Now that was a wild ride! Any stain they might leave can't even begin to compare with what would have happened if her water had broken!"

Thinking back on the experience with the pregnant lady calmed me down.

"This'll be a walk in the park, compared to that!"

And it was a walk in the park. If that park was named "Central." As in, 'Central Park in New York City.' A dangerous place to be after dark, and sometimes not very safe in broad sunlight.

Speaking of broads, as I got on the freeway, the two lovebirds switched positions. They rolled over, and she got on top. I knew this, because she was blocking my view of the rear-view mirror. He started bucking so hard, I wondered if she'd be able to hang on for the full eight seconds. They started to sound like two cats in heat.

Ten miles to go.

"You can do this! Ignore them. At least she's just making a baby, not giving birth to one!"

They switched positions again. And again. And again... They had more moves than the Kama Sutra.

"Forget about it. They're assholes. You'll be done with them soon, then they'll be out of your life forever!"

She got on top of him once more. Then it happened. To steady herself, she grabbed the back of my seat. What with his bucking, and her riding him like she was breaking a wild bronc, my seat began to be jerked back and forth. Shit. Just eight miles to go. But, it's very distracting to have your seat-back jerked back-and-forth. I did my best to ignore it. If this was the worst thing that were to happend, I'd be grateful and count myself blessed.

To be continued...

In Part One, I dedicated this story to my dear friend, Johnny Wraith, who had asked for me to write a story about women changing their clothes. Right now, even though he's over a hundred miles a way, I can hear his plaintive question.

"Hey, Cab Guy, you're on the Freeway. When do we get to the Three-Way?"

Patience, my friend, patience. All good things come to those who wait. Have patience. I certainly did.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 3"

Three-Way on the Freeway - Part One

2007-10-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, one of my loyal fans, and best friend, Johnny Wraith, left me a message saying, to the effect, that he'd like to see me post a story about women changing their clothing in the back seat of the cab. At that time I had to refuse, because up until that point in time, I'd never had the experience of having women, or even just one woman, change her clothing in the backseat of my cab.

So here we are today. Up until a few minutes ago, I was getting ready to go to work. My morning ablutions were complete. All I needed to do was get dressed, grab the keys to the cab, and hit the door, ready to start a new day of schlepping people around the Phoenix Metro area. But, for some reason Johnny's request kept turning over in my mind. He really wanted to read a story about women changing their clothes in the back seat of the car.

And I really wanted to give him that story! But, I didn't want to cheat. I didn't want to make up a tale, and pass it off as the truth. I'm just not built for that kind of dishonesty. (Oh, don't worry, I'm no saint. When a situation calls for it, I'll be as dishonest as I need to be to get the job done. But this wasn't one of those kind of situations.) And I couldn't just provide a fiction story of this type, because that would not have fulfilled Johnny's purpose.

You see, Johnny Wraith is a writer himself, and a good one. If he wanted to read a story about women changing their clothes in the back of my cab, I suppose he could have just written it himself. But he didn't. Not that he's lazy. If I asked Johnny to write me a story about women changing their clothes in the back of his car, he'd whip one out in about ninety minutes. Flat. So he clearly has the ability to produce such a tale. But like I said, such a story would not have fulfilled his purpose, which was to be titillated by a true story, one that happened to me, in the back of my cab, involving women changing their clothes.

You know, maybe titillated is the wrong word to use here, because it implies that Johnny was looking for some sort of sexual fulfillment by the reading of a story like this. Nothing could be further from the truth. He just really likes to read, or for that matter, hear, about weird situations that happened to other people. He says that they stoke his imagination, and make him feel more alive, as if he has had the experience himself, and has therefore received some sort of blessing from God in the form of an expanded consciousness. At least that's his explanation for what's going on, as near as I can tell. Whatever.

Frankly, I think that Johnny is a voyeur. Now, I don't mean that in some sort of a creepy, Peeping Tom, sort of way, skulking around bedroom windows at night, hoping to catch a view of some unmentionable goings-on. I mean that he likes to watch life, to experience it as fully as he can. He knows that he can't have every possible experience himself, but if he hears or reads about an experience, he is able to consume it, to take it within himself, so that he can have something of the experience. He says that this allows him to be more fulfilled as a person....

Damn it! Now I'm starting to do it! Here I am, making rationalizations for the behavior of another person, simply because that person happens to be my friend. Folks, it's time to face facts: my friend, Johnny Wraith, had a mild kink. He loves pornography, in all it's forms, but especially the written word. I don't really think that he's addicted to pornography, though. His love of the genre is not debilitating. It is not all consuming. As far as I can tell, pornography has no negative impact at all upon Johnny Wraith's life. He functions as an otherwise normal person. Who just happens to like porn.

There, I've said it. It's out in the open: Johnny Wraith likes porn! Sorry, Johnny, for outing you! But it was inevitable. If not me, then someone else would have flung open the door to that particular closet. Don't you feel better, Johnny? I know I do!

So, anyway, with all of these thoughts in my mind, I sat down before my computer, still somewhat moist from my recent morning wake up shower, and began to bang out this post. Everything that I wrote up to now is a prelude to what will follow.

The story that you are about to read is dedicated to my best friend, Johnny Wraith. But, wait! Before you get all hot and bothered, keep in mind that it is not a story about something as mundane as women changing their clothes in the back of the car. But, this story might be just as good, maybe even better than a clothes-changing story. I call it...

The Three-way on the Freeway

About six years ago, in the summer of 2001, in those halcyon days predating the September 11 Attacks and the fall of the Twin Towers, I was working the night shift, driving a cab. Not that it's absolutely germain to the story, but I believe that it was late July when the events that I'm about to relate transpired. I had just started working for a large Phoenix-area cab company. But I wasn't a newbie in the biz, because I had just left another large cab company, for whom I had worked about four years. Because I had put in about five or six shifts per week over those four years, I had about 1100 to 1200 shifts under my belt. I'm not going to say that I had seen it all, because, even to me, it was clear that I hadn't. But I had seen quite a lot of "it."

So, on the night before the night during which the event that this story is all about occurred, I was at my favorite perch, a place where cabbies hang out waiting for fares. Several other cabbies were there with me, including a woman driver who at the time was a friend of mine. I'll call her Patsy. It's not her real name, but to prevent possible legal action (don't ask why; she's just that way), I've changed it.

I don't know how it happened, but we all started talking about things we either did, or did not, want to see happening the backseat of our respective cabs. I don't know who, but someone brought up the topic of people having sex in the back seat, while the cabbie drove. I don't remember if this person was pro or con, but I do remember Patsy's reaction.

"OH, I think that would be so cool!"

Do tell. I can't say that this surprised me in the least. I had known Patsy for about six weeks at the time, and had formed the conclusion that if it was weird, kinky or unsavory, she was into it. But don't get me started on THAT topic; it's the subject for another story. Or now that I think about, her story would probably fill a book. Yes, definitely a book.

I had to disagree with Patsy, and told her so, in a very pointed fashion.

"Let me tell you something. If there's one thing I hope I never see, it's anyone having sex in the backseat of my cab. And that includes all possible combinations and numbers of participants: man and woman, man and man, woman and woman. Man, woman and another woman. Man and dog. Woman and dog. Man, woman and dog. Woman, donkey and a parrot. Sixteen tiny reindeer and a horse that sweats. It just doesn't matter. I don't care who they are, in what combination, or what kink. Or no kink at all. If it's sexual in nature, I don't want to see it!"

Now I'm no prude. I have my preferences, and I'm sure you have yours, and I do not tend to make judgments based on those preferences. But I don't want an audience when I'm engaging in my preferences, and I don't want to be your audience when you're engaging in yours. Look: my cab is my office. Would you want me coming over and having sex in your office, on your desk? Messing up your paperwork? It doesn't matter what your answer is, you ain't doing it in MY office, messing up MY upholstery. Frankly, to me, people having backseat sex was my nightmare.

Naturally, having said all this, my nightmare came true, the very next night.

On that fateful evening, at about midnight on a Wednesday, I got a call to do a pickup at the Tiajuana Country Club, a nightclub at the intersection of Ray Road and 32nd Avenue, in Ahwatukee, a Phoenix suburb. As luck would have it, I was only about five minutes away, so I was Johnny-on-the-spot. It turned out that it was a young, college aged-couple that had called for the cab. They must not have been expecting me to arrive so soon, because when I arrived to pick them up, the door host, a cute young thing herself, told me that they were waiting around to the side of the building.

"This can't be good," I said to her, as we both started walking to the side of the building.

"Why's that?", she replied.

"Well, it's been my experience that when people are waiting for me around the side of the building, then trouble's abrewin'. Either they're drunk and passed out, or they're hiding something that they don't want me to see, or, they're puking their guts out. This last is usually not a problem. Better they puke on the side of your building than the inside of my car. But, sometimes they puke on themselves, and when that happens, then I've come all the way here for nothing."

"Why's that?"

"Well, when someone wears their bodily fluids on the outside of their body, I don't let them get on the inside of my car. If I don't let them in, then I don't make any money. So be it, the alternative is too gruesome to contemplate."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

At this point we came to the corner of the building and looked around the side, but there no one was to be seen. But, I heard voices. Odd. Where were the people? I decided to solve this this problem by asking in a loud voice,

"Did any one call for a cab?"

A disembodied voice replied,

"We did!"

The door host and I both looked around, but couldn't see anyone.

"Down here!", said the voice.

I looked down. Where I saw my customers. On the ground. Both of them. A man and a woman. He on top of her. Doing you know what. Nice... but not really.

"Take your time," I said. "I'll wait over by the cab."

I turned and walked back to my car, the door host at my side.

"This ought to be an interesting trip, don't you think?", I asked her.

"I don't know, maybe it'll be fun!", she replied.

Maybe it'll be fun? Somehow, I had the feeling that we weren't on the same wavelength.

To be continued...

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Click here to read "Threeway on the Freeway - Part Two"

Get Rich Quick

2007-10-30T22:43:00.000-07:00

Hello again, Gentle Reader. A couple of days ago, I was sent this e-mail, purportedly from The Desk of: Mr. Kim Chun, offering me the opportunity to earn almost ten million dollars. What would I have to do to earn this windfall? Well, why don't you just read the e-mail yourself.

I have not modified Kim Chun's e-mail in anyway, and (except for line-width: my blog is narrower than his e-mail, which got "scrunched-up") have left all errors of spelling, grammar, and formatting intact:

FROM THE DESCK OF: MR. KIM CHUN

HANG SENG BANK LTD.
Shop 1110-1011, G/F,
Yiu Sing Mansion,
14 Taikoo Shing Road
EMAIL: kimchun2@gmail.com

I am Mr. Kim Chun, Manager, foreign operations dept of the Hang Seng Bank
Ltd, Taikoo Shing Branch. I have an obscured business suggestion
for you. Before the U.S and Iraqi war our client Colonel Sadiq Uday who was
with the Iraqi forces and also a business man made a numbered fixed deposit
for
18 calendar months, with a value of Nineteen Millions Five Hundred Thousand
United State Dollars only, in my branch. Upon maturity several notices was
sent
to him during and after the war with out any response from him.

We later find out that the Colonel and his family where killed during the
war in a bomb blast that hit their home. After further investigation it was
also discovered
that Colonel Sadiq Uday did not declare any living next of kin in his
official papers including the paper work of his bank deposit. And he also
confide in me the
last time he was at my office that no one except me knew of his deposit in
my bank. So, Nineteen millions Five Hundred Thousand United State Dollars is
still
lying in my bank and no one will ever come forward to claim it.

What bothers me most is that according to the banking laws of my country at
the expiration 5 (Five) years the funds will reverts to the ownership of the
Hong
Kong Government if nobody applies to claim the funds. Against this
backdrop, my suggestion to you is that I will like you as a foreigner to
stand as the next of
kin to Colonel Sadiq Uday so that you will be able to receive his funds.

WHAT IS TO BE DONE?

I want you to know that I have had everything planned out so that we shall
come out successful. I have contacted an Attorney that will prepare the
necessary
documents that will back you up as the next of kin to Colonel Sadiq Uday,
all which is required from you at this stage is for you to provide me with
your Full Names,
Address and telephone number so that the Attorney can commence his job.
After you have been made the next of kin, the Attorney will also fill in for
claims on
your behalf and secure the necessary approval and letter of probate in your
favor for the move of the funds to an account that will be provided by you.

There is no risk involved at all in the matter as we are going to adopt a
legalized method and the Attorney will prepare all the necessary documents.
Please
endeavor to observe utmost discretion in all matters concerning this issue.
Once the funds have been transferred to your nominated bank account the
sharing
ratio will be 50-50, though, open for negotiation be you.

Should you be interested please send me your full names and current
residential address and I will prefer you reach me on my private email
address below
kimchun2@gmail.com . I shall provide you with more details of this
operation after I get the requested information from you.

Your earliest response to this letter will be appreciated.

Kind Regards

Mr. Kim Chun.

Well, Gentle Readers, what should I do? This offer is certainly tempting on it's face. I'm sure that Mr. Chen has only the purest of motives on my behalf, as evidenced by his willingness to allow all of the money to be deposited in my back account, before he gets his due share. Why, he's even willling to negotiate how we share the proceeds, though he does suggest a fifty-fifty split.

And it certainly makes sense that he would ask for all my private residential information, as he will need it in order that he may send me any necessary doccuments for my signature.

But I wanted to be absolutely certain that this was on the up-and-up, so I Googled "HANG SENG BANK LTD." to see if it really existed.

It does. HANG SENG BANK LTD. comes up first on Googles search engine, one of over a million entries with variation on the phrase HANG SENG BANK LTD.

I didn't bother to go the the first entry, as I was more interested in the second entry, which I have linked HERE.

If you read the information on the linked page, you might come away with the impression, as I did, that Mr. Cheung Pui ranks higher up in the hiearchy of the Hang Seng Bank, Ltd., as he has found an account with an even greater stash of loot.

Which leads me to ask several questions:

Should I curb my greed, just accept Mr. Chun's offer, and be content?

Should I contact both Mr. Chun and Mr. Pui, work with them both, thereby earning even greater wealth?

Should I decline both offers, knowing that with riches such as these I would probably discontinue driving my cab, thereby making this blog irrelevant, which would deprive you, my loyal readers, of the great joy you obtain by reading my words of wisdom?

Or should I just remember something that my mother taught me: "If it seems to good to be true, it probably is!"

What should I do?

What would you do?

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

A Lame-Assed Excuse

2007-10-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

Hi. Thanks for stopping by. Glad you're here. Too bad it's all for nothing, if you were expecting to see a new post for this date. It was my intention to have a new one ready, and call it "Three-Way on the Freeway." It was going to be dedicated to my friend Johnny Wraith. But that post isn't ready, so all I have to offer is this lame-assed excuse. I know that I really didn't have to put anything up, and you would have never known the difference. The problem is, I would have known. And Johnny would have known.

Yeah, like some writers are wont to do, I discussed the debut of a story before it was ready for publication. This is always a mistake. As a matter of fact, I was talking to Johnny just a few hours ago, and told him that he could look forward to reading it bright and early in the morning. Early being the operant word: Johnny typically gets up at about five a.m. each day. I knew he would log on to read it well before dawn, seeing as how it was dedicated to him, and involved one of his favorite topics. Probably the one at the top of his list. Sex. Involving humans, not lab rats. Though Johnny apparently likes to watch lab rats go at it. Whatever. Different strokes, and all of that. But my story is one involving humans, not lab rats, so I knew he was looking forward to it.

But as I wrote the story, it started growing. Exponentially. By leaps and bounds. It started to scare me, it was getting so big. As a matter of fact, even though it was no more than two-thirds finished, it became obvious that I would have to pare it down. A lot. Which isn't a bad thing. As it turns out, all the parts that I have to cut out will become gist for another story. So it wasn't all wasted effort.

So really, this story isn't for you. Most of you will never see it, because the post that should be here will arrive before you do. But I know that Johnny will read this. Which is why I offer this lame-assed excuse. So here goes...

Johnny: hey man, I'm sorry. I'll finish the story as soon as I can. Please be patient. It'll be worth the wait. Guaranteed.

Hang in there, Tiger. Sorry for making you wait. Meanwhile, stop touching yourself.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Thanks for the Tip!

2007-10-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

I used to be a regular contributor to a Phoenix area entertainment guide known as Fast Lane Magazine in a column called "Road Rage: Tales from the Taxi." The following story first appeared in my column published in the January 8, 2004 issue. This keep this in mind while reading it, as there are some less than timely references to Christmas and Saddam Hussein.

I decided to post this piece here, at this time, because I thought it would be a nice complement to my last posting, which involved roast beef sandwiches and bumper-stickers, but also included a rant about how some people don't tip. Okay, the part about Saddam Hussein isn't really germain to the whole tipping thing, but it was in the column then, and for the sake of artistic integrity (giggle!) I've left it in here. Here goes...

Hello again, my friends, it’s certainly good to see you! I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to get together, as I hope that what I have to say will bring some joy into your lives at this most festive time of the year. Here we are, near the end of yet another year. My year was certainly full and blessed, and I hope yours was, also. Although, for personal reasons of belief I do not celebrate Christmas, I do so enjoy this time of year as people make plans to celebrate with loved ones, and also make plans for the New Year to come.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I do think that we have quite a lot to celebrate about. For one, everyone who is reading this column has, at the very least, survived another year, and had at least that opportunity to improve their situation, and that of their loved ones. For another, although, sadly, America is still virtually at war in Iraq, that arch-enemy of peace, Saddam Hussein, has been hunted to the ground, quite literally, and captured, thus bringing us, and the Iraqi people, just a little bit closer to closure in this matter. As your Cab Guy, I was amused at the news that there was a taxi parked outside of the house where Saddam’s hidey-hole was discovered. Apparently, he had been using it to get around during the time that he was on the run. I wonder if he was a big tipper? My instinct tells me that if the driver even asked for the fare, let alone a tip, he would have received a bullet in his head for his troubles!

I don’t know about you, but I wonder how Saddam felt in his last few days of freedom. In moments of quiet reverie, I pretend I am he, and imagine what he would think:

“You know, I never would have thought it would come to this, trapped in this shitty little hole in the ground. I mean come on! I’m Saddam Hussein, the dictator of Iraq, chief of what was once the fourth largest army on the planet. For over thirty years I’ve done things my own way. If someone didn’t like it, tough shit, I fed them a bullet."

"Where did I slip up? Was it Iran? Kuwait? The Kurds, damn their eyes? What? What went wrong? Those puissant Americans! Who would have thought a couple of Bushes could have brought down a might oak like myself?"

"And so here I am, stuck in this shitty little hole in the ground, sharing a blanket with about a million lice, down to my last $750,000 dollars. Shit… this really sucks!”

I wonder if Saddam Hussein ever thinks about me? I don’t know, maybe Fast Lane Magazine makes it to Iraq every now and again. If that’s the case…

“Hey Saddam… think your little grotto in the desert sucked? (Pointing to my crotch) Suck this, you miserable little canker sore!”

Alright, enough about that guy, I’d better shut up before I really get started. Let’s move on to the actual humor section of this edition of Road Rage. Allow me to bring to you an amusing little tale of whimsy, entitled:

"Thanks for the Tip!"

The other day I was talking to another cab guy that I know. (Notice how he is “cab guy” in lower-case? There can only be one upper-case “Cab Guy”, and he is me!) After chipping our gums for a few minutes, he told me that yet another cab guy had just told him a story that he thought would be perfect for my column. Smart-ass that I am, I told him that I was the sole judge of all things perfect for my column, but he could take his best shot. So he told me the story that the other cab guy had just finished telling him.

I had to admit, that it would, in fact, be perfect for my column. Always desiring to hear the story straight from the horse’s ass, I mean, mouth, I gave him my card, and asked him to have the other guy call me when he next saw him. Well, last night the other guy called me to tell his tale, and since I was still scraping around for something to put in this edition of Road Rage, I welcomed the timeliness of his call. Anyway, the fellow’s name is Alan P., and like me, he has driven a cab in the Valley for a number of years, and has seen a lot of crap in those years. I have to admit, I have never heard anything like this story before, so I’m going to let Alan tell you in his own (paraphrased) words:

“Well, the other day, I picked up this lady who told me that she needed to get home. She told me where she lived, so off we went. Had I’d know what was going to happen, I would have asked for the money up front, because I knew it was going to be about a $30.00 fare, but as she was reasonably well dressed, and wasn’t acting weird, I didn’t even consider her to be the type of person who would “cab and dash.”

"As we pulled into her apartment complex, she told me that the speed bumps were really terrible, and that I needed to slow way down. As we came up on a speed bump, she reminded me to slow down, which I did, almost to a full stop. When I did that, she was out of the car like a shot. By the time that I put the car in park, got out of my seat belt and got out of the car, she had already made her way between two buildings in the complex, and was gone.'

"Well, obviously I was more that a little pissed, and disappointed at the loss of thirty dollars, but, it wasn’t the first time ever that I was stiffed, and probably won’t be the last time, so I sucked it up and went back to the car. When I got to the car, I went ahead and checked out the back seat, like I always do after every passenger, just to see if she had left anything of value behind. Imagine my shock when I saw a lady’s clutch purse there on the back seat."

"I opened the door to retrieve the purse. Imagine my delight to see, upon opening the purse, that not only was my passenger’s picture ID was in the wallet, but the address on the wallet was for the complex where I had let her off! But wait, there’s more! Guess what else was in the purse? $65.00! What a stupid lady she was, to run out on a thirty dollar fare, leaving her purse, ID and sixty-five dollars behind!"

"The way I figure it, she probably was just a little pressed for time, so rather that hold it against her, I took the money, put into the wallet a note that said, “Thanks for the big tip, I appreciate it!”, and turned her purse in at the complex office!”

I couldn’t resist telling that story to several other people, who all agreed that it was definitely worthy of inclusion in Road Rage. But wait, there’s more! Cab drivers are as a group, like many other groups, subject to telling war stories. Put two or more cabbies together at one location, and sooner or later, one of them will say, “Hey, I got to tell you about this fare that I had the other day!”, and then proceed to tell a story that the other cabbie has likely lived through. (You know what I mean, it’s like Hollywood: although the actors may be different, the plot rarely changes.) When he’s finished, the second guy will probably tell a story, and likely as not, try to top the first guy’s story.

Well, in this instance, I was not surprised to hear someone tell me what they would have done, had Alan’s story happened to him. This guy, let’s just call him “Pete” says he would have tacked a different ending on to his story. Really, I say, do tell! And so he did. Here’s Pete’s version:

“Well, if I had found that broad’s purse, I’d have taken the money alright, but I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have wanted her to suffer a little bit, just like me, and I would have wanted to watch. So what I would have done, after stashing the cash, would have been to call the cops, had them come over, and bang on her door. I think it would have been a real hoot to see her sweat, having to explain herself to the cop who told her she had to pay up or go to jail: ‘But, Officer, I had sixty-five dollars in that purse. You should be arresting him for stealing thirty-five dollars from me!’ Man, I would have loved seeing her in the hot seat! It would have been sweet. Of course, after a little while of watching her squirm I’d have told the cop I couldn't waste anymore time, I needed to get back to work, and let her off the hook!”

I told Pete that I thought he was a true gentleman, but I don’t really think that he grasped the irony of my statement.

Well, yet another cabbie, “Jack” seems like as good a name as any, heard me tell Alan’s story, and Pete’s rejoinder, and I guess he just couldn’t resist having a little fun himself, because he said that he had something to throw into the mix.

“Well, I’ve got to agree with Pete. I’d have taken the money, stashed it away, and then called the cops, also. It would have been sweet to see her squirming around like a worm on a hook. I live for shit like that. But there is no way I would have let her off the hook that easy! You’ve got to teach people like that a lesson, one they’re never, ever, going to forget. I call that lesson, ‘Stick it in me, and I’ll break it off in you!’ What I’d have done, when the cops got there, is let her go through her song and dance about having money in the purse. I’m sure that at some point the officer would have said something like, ‘If you had sixty-five dollars in your wallet, why didn’t you just give him thirty of it and be done. Now you owe him the thirty that was on the meter when you ran, plus whatever’s been rung up since then. From here, I can see that the meter is up to sixty dollars, and it’s still running. I suggest you give him that amount, or I’ll have to arrest you for theft.’ I bet she’d have paid up. Now, that’s my idea of justice!”

I’m sure that somewhere, right now as you read this, some cab guy is telling Alan’s story to another cab guy, and throwing in his two cents. I’m sure that sooner or later, one of these jokers is going to claim he would have done all that and more, up to and including hounding her until she ate a gun. One thing about cab guys: through us the milk of human kindness flows quite cold! Until the next time we meet, stay safe, and stay sane! See you next year!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Do You Need A Job? How's My Driving?

2007-10-27T03:26:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago, Thursday, I believe, I picked up a very nice lady named Sheila at a local grocery store. As I normally do, I opened the trunk by pushing the "Trunk Open" button on the dashboard, and then got out of the car to help her move her groceries from the cart to the trunk. After all the bags were out of the cart, I noticed a Kit-Kat candy bar in the bottom of the cart, and pointed it out to Sheila. She told me that it must have fallen out of an open pack, and said I could have it if I wanted. I thanked her for it, commenting that I was a little hungry, as I hadn't eaten my dinner yet. She said she'd make me a sandwich, if I liked roast beef, after I helped her to take her groceries into her house.

Now, unless a person specifically refuses help from me, I always assist them in getting their luggage, groceries or whatever out of the cab and into their hotel, house or wherever. Not only does the cab company expect me to do it, I think that it's really the right thing to do, even though I know that in some cases it won't increase the size of the tip.

You might be asking how I could possibly know if this courtesy could negatively affect the size of a tip if refused, or increase it if granted. After all, how could I possibly know how much a person planned to tip in either circumstances? Well, most of the time, you'd be right, as there is no way I could possibly know what part of any tip was for the safe ride, and what part was for schlepping baggage, short of asking the person.

But, I stand by my statement: sometimes the extra help does not increase the size of the tip. The evidence? Believe it or not, some people just don't tip, regardless of the circumstances. There have been times when I have moved dozens of grocery bags up as many as three flights of stairs, and have only received the amount that was on the meter when the car stopped, even though I am legally entitled to collect for any additional time charges that may accrue prior to the car being emptied. The meter might say $5.00 when we stop, and $7.00 when the car is empty. Many's the time I've only been given a fiver for my efforts.

So now you might be tempted to say,

"Ah, hah! What you said was, 'I know that in some cases it will not increase the size of the tip.' This is a predictive statement. How can you predict that you won't be tipped?"

It's easy. If the car stops, the meter says $5.00, and the passenger hands me a fiver before I even open the trunk, I know I'm not going to be tipped. I didn't have to predict that I won't be tipped; I can see that I haven't been tipped.

Some people, no matter how much I've gone "above and beyond," just won't tip. But I don't take it personally. I figure that they probably never tip anyone. The rat bastards.

But I digress. It wasn't my intention, when I began this story, to go off on a tangent, and rant about how some people don't tip. I'm sorry it happened. I just felt an overwhelming need to vent. Thanks for your patience. I feel better now. May I now finish the story in the manner that I had originally intended? Okay, here goes.

Now, notice that Sheila said she'd make me a roast beef sandwich after I helped her carry her bags to her door? Wasn't she being somewhat presumptuous, assuming that I'd carry her bags for her? Why, the nerve of some people! At least she could have asked, rather than just assuming...

I'm just kidding! I'm not going to go off on another rant. Just wanted to see if you were paying attention. Actually, she'd already told me she was going to give me an extra five dollars for helping her, even before she mentioned the roast beef sandwich. So that's that. On to the rest of the story.

After I helped get the groceries into her house, Sheila invited me to sit at her kitchen table, and proceeded to assemble a sandwich for me. Actually two. On dark rye, with cheese, mustard and mayonnaise, just the way I like it. Accompanied by a nice, big, cold glass of milk. She made one for herself, and joined me at the table. We had a pleasant conversation while munching our sandwiches. The roast beef was delicious, and really hit the spot! It was a nice change of pace for me, and I was grateful for Sheila's hospitality. We talked for a few minutes after the sandwiches were but a pleasant memory, and then I said that I really had to go back to work. She walked me to the door, and then to my cab.

But, just like my tip rant, this wasn't supposed to be a story about roast beef sandwiches, milk, and a nice conversation. You probably already knew this by the title of the story. It just turned out that way. The story of Sheila's hospitality is my way of compensating for my little rant about tipping. And also to explain how is was that Sheila came back to the car.

Because she came back to the car, Sheila was able to see the rear bumper. What she there prompted a short discussion which lead to the idea for the story I had intended to tell, several hundred words ago. So let me tell that story. You might think it's funny. Then again you might not. Either way, you'll know in just a few seconds, because it is a short story. I promise. I think it's best if I just start over. Here goes.

The other day, a passenger of mine, Sheila, pointed out to me the incongruity of a couple of bumper stickers on the back of my cab. One said "Do you need a job?", while the other said, "How's My Driving?" Each one had a phone number on it, but they were different numbers. Obviously, the cab company wanted the public to give feedback on my driving, as well as attract potential new cabby's, or other employees. I'd seen the stickers, but never really gave them much thought.

Sheila thought that it was funny that they were side-by-side. She said she doubted that a job seeker would call to complain about my driving.

"Why's that?", I asked.

"Well," she said, "What if they did report you, and then got the job? I think they'd be afraid of what you might do if you found out they snitched you off!"

I thought about it for a moment, pondering the possibilities. I told her that maybe she was right, I never thought of it that way. We both chuckled at the absurdity. But then the cynic in me took over. I had a much more sinister view, and told her so.

"Or maybe," I said, "someone might call the complaint line, with a horrendous, but phony, complaint, just to get me fired!"

"Why in the world would someone do something like that?", she asked.

"Don't you see? To create a job opening. To make it easier for them to get a job. Driving my cab!"

We both laughed. It's funny, don't you think?

I guess you had to be there.

By the way, not withstanding my earlier comments about people who don't tip, I really don't care if any particular person doesn't tip me. The generosity of others helps make up the difference. I'm not saying it's okay not to tip your cab driver. I'm just saying it's no skin off my nose. But remember this: if you stiff me this time, be prepared for what might happen the next time I'm assigned as your driver. I'd bring something to read, if I were you.

I've got a standing offer to come over to Sheila's anytime I want a sandwich.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

In Loving Memory...

2007-10-26T10:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while tooling around in my cab, just trying to make a living, I happened to spot a sign that said something like this: "This stretch of highway maintained In Loving Memory of John Smith." Now I've seen similar signs like this for years, but usually they say something like, "This stretch of highway maintained by Boy Scoot Troop 316" or "This stretch of highway maintained by the employees of Wal-Mart number 1234."

Signs employing the latter format are ubiqutous, and I seen them around in various locations for years. I usually don't pay much attention to them, except to the extent that I am gratified that some people are truly taking an interest in keeping some small, specific areas of America clean and beautiful. I guess what attracted me to yesterday's sign-spotting was the "In Loving Memory..." format.

I've seen such "In Loving Memory..." postings before. However, the vast majority of these previous sightings were painted or decaled onto the rear or side window of a pickup truck or car, usually in a hard to read font such as old English, or Gothic, and they tend to look like this:

In Loving Memory
Juan Valdez
1987-2006
You will Be Missed!

I think that it's great that some people have, while they lived, made such an impact upon those around them, that when they died, their friends and relatives proclaimed the impact thus made by posting various "In Loving Memory..." memorials. Of course, the cynic in me can't help but think that at least some of these memorials so displayed are for the aggrandizement of the one who displays it, rather than the deceased, but that is neither here nor there. I'm just saying that sometimes I wonder about the sincerity of such sentiments.

Now, I said all of the above just to set the stage, to provide some context, and to allow what I'm about to say below make sense.

Suppose that, while he lived, John Smith was a prick, a real thoroughgoing bastard, thoroughly despised by all, both near and far, all across this great land of ours. What type of memorial would be posted for him then? Would his friends and relatives felt the need to tell the world of how they really felt about him, to the extent that they would have posted a different sign over a different type of property? If so, would such a sign be posted somewhere more appropriate to the sentiment?

I think that maybe they would, and it might look something like this:

This Garbage Dump Maintained
In Spiteful Memory of
John "The Prick Bastard" Smith
1923 to 2005
May He Rot Like All The Other Crap Here!

I guess the moral of this story is, if you think your friends and neighbors are the type to memorialize you when you are dead, maybe you should treat them better while you're alive!

Furthermore, were I to see such as sign, I would have no doubts at all as to its sincerity. Would you?

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Light Rail Blues - Part Five

2007-10-25T08:50:00.001-07:00

Okay, I have finally gotten around to writing Part Five of this series. I really don't think there is a need to recap the other parts of the series. If you've gotten this far, you know what I said in parts one through four. If you're not familiar with what I've said, and you're really really interested, just go to the archives and read those posts.

As readers of this series can tell, I am not in love with the Light Rail system that Phoenix is getting. Among other things, I think it has design flaws that render it a less than optimal system. I want to discuss this, and contrast it with my preferred design.

For example, the placement of the rails in the middle of city streets means that it will have to compete with already existing traffic, and change traffic flow patterns in the neighborhoods that it transits. I have stated that because of this, travel on the Light Rail system will not be any faster than travel on the city bus. With the rails in the middle of the street, the Light Rail will be competing for space with other traffic, and will have to flow along at roughly the same speed, as it will use the same grade-level intersections, and therefore must respect the traffic lights. However, during rush hour, since it has it's own dedicated corridor, it won't be subject to slowdowns simply because of traffic volume. I am guessing that because of this, transit times along the Light Rail path will be fairly consistent, regardless of the time of day. But one must still consider what will happen when a train comes upon an intersection that is not clear due to blockage by cars that have not cleared the intersection between traffic light cycles. We've all seen cars enter an intersection late in the green part of the light, or even yellow, but not exit it before the red because of stalled traffic. This leads to gridlock, and unless this bad driving habit is somehow changed, the Light Rail will be subject to the same gridlock.

So the light rail trains will have to compete with automotive traffic, which is already a mess during rush hour. So let's, just for fun, throw in the mix the fact that Phoenix appears to be the red-light running capital of America. Do you think that this bad habit that many drivers have will tend to negatively impact the Light Rail system? I sure do. I'm wondering how many trains and cars will collide with each other due to the negligence of drivers, or even train operators. I feel fairly confident in guaranteeing that this number will not ever be zero, except, of course, prior to the first collision.

Another effect of placement of the rails in the middle of the street relates to passenger access. With the rails in the middle of the street, so, too, will be the stops. Passengers entering or exiting the system will have to cross the path of automotive traffic to use the system. I personally don't feel very comfortable while crossing streets in the Phoenix Metro area, and I am a very careful pedestrian. I always wait for the the appropriate crossing signal, look both ways before starting to cross, remain aware of potential danger while crossing, move as quickly as I can, and still feel like I'm taking my life into my own hands when I do it. So what? Well, I see people crossing in an unsafe manner all the time, and wonder how they can do it. Yes, I know that the law grants pedestrians the right of way in crosswalks, but let's face facts: the laws of physics grants cars the "right of mass" in any car-pedestrian collision, with the usual result people that the pedestrian is usually injured, many times fatally. How many people will become maimed or killed by automotive traffic (due to pedestrian negligence, granted, but it still must be considered) while trying to enter or exit a train stop? Or what about people who habitually cross the street between intersections? Look for pedestrian-train collisions to be a less than rare occurrence in the future.

But what are some of the other effects of the design characteristics of a rail system? To start with, because it is a rail system, once in place, it is inflexible. It goes where it goes, even if, at some time in the future, ridership patterns change. If a bus route experiences a change in ridership, it can be discontinued, modified as to specific path, or even expanded or reduced (by increasing or decreasing the frequency of buses along the route), allowing the system to take advantage of the changed preferences of its patrons. Certainly the frequency of trains along the Light Rail path can be changed, if need be. But the path cannot be changed. It starts "here" and goes "there." If the patrons of the system demonstrate that they want a different "here" and "there", well, too bad. It is where it is, and it goes where it goes. Make no mistake, if ridership increases, the frequency of the trains will most certainly increase. But if ridership falls, even to practically nil, it won't, in all likelihood, be abandoned. To much money will have been invested in the system.

Also, as I stated in a previous part of this series, specific traffic patterns along the Light Rail route will be altered because of raised traffic barriers separating the train from automotive traffic. Left turns and street-crossing access will be severely impacted by these barriers. In some places already the distance between these access points has increased to up to half a mile, from the previous stretch of a block or so. This won't be good for traffic flow at all. If you've ever seen the intersection of Main Street and Roosevelt, in Mesa, lately, you'll know what I mean. At any time of the day, traffic piles up to turn left, or make U-turns to access the other side of the street, creating a hazard. During rush hour, the situation is positively nuts!

So allow me to recap my complaints regarding the design of the Light Rail system: 1. The trains won't really move any faster than the bus, or other traffic, except possibly during rush hour; 2. Collisions between cars and trains will occur; 3. Collisions between people and trains will occur; 4. Routes, once in place, are inflexible. 5. Existing traffic patterns will be negatively, and in some places, severely impacted.

So, what if we started from scratch? What if we agreed that, because of the traffic situation he in Phoenix, we decided that something had to be done? What would we do? Would we just throw something together, and applaud ourselves because we had done something which had to be done? Or would we take a more thoughtful approach, and critically examine the problem, and come up with an optimal system? Well, of course, from here on out, everything I say is just "spit balling," because we have what we have, and that's all there is to it. However, that does not mean that after the first line is completed that we must continue on, and expand the system according to the same basic design. Things can be done differently in the future, because I agree, something has to be done.

Now I'll grant you, once your design of choice becomes a rail system, your decision as to where to place the rails comes down to three choices: 1. Underground, as in a subway; 2. Grade-level, as we are getting here in Phoenix; and 3. Above ground level, as in the elevated train in Chicago. Each design has it's merits and it's flaws. A subway, because of all the excavation, cost significantly more than a grade-level or elevated system. I presume an elevated system costs less than a subway, but probably more than a grade-level system, and it may be esthetically unpleasing. I'm sure a grade-level system is much less expensive, but it has negative impacts such as those I've discussed. Would it have been a better option to pay more for a subway, or put up with the esthetic effects of an El? Would the costs have outweighed the benefits? Who knows.

Now I suspect that a grade-level system was cchose primarily due to cost factors, but esthetics probably also played a part. So with this in mind, rather than builing a light rail system, with it's problems, why wasn't the option of expanding the bus system chosen? Now, as I've stated previously, I'm no real fan of the bus system. But really, given it's operational limits, is the Light Rail system really superior to the bus in any great way? I don't think so. Not only does it shares the same streets, and move at about the same speeds, but it is inflexible as to route, and deeply impacts traffic patterns around it.

Why not just expand the bus system? Trains need operators like buses do, so would expanding the bus system have a greater employee cost over the train, for the sme given volume of ridership? Probably not to any great degree. Buses cost less than trains, so additional capacity for the bus system from a capital standpoint must be cheaper than the Light Rail system. Sure, a two-car train may carry more people, but what about the extended two-unit buses that I've seen tooling around certain parts of our city?

My bottom line is this; if the Light Rail system really can't accomplish it's task any better than the bus, why pay so much more for it? I say stick with the bus. But update the design. Here's where we get to the part where I fulfill my promise to show you my idea of a system that might have been better.

A couple of decades ago I had the oppotunity to stay in Vancouver, British Columbia, for a few days. I was up there for the 1984 World's Exposition. When not actually at the Expo site, I spent quite a bit of time moving around Vancouver itself, which, by the way, is a very pretty city. I got around by bus. But these weren't ordinary buses. They were electric. But they did not run on battery power. Along each side of the road along a bus line, there was an over-head electric line, just like you'll see over the Light Rail path. On top of each bus was a device that reached up to the electric line, enabling the bus to draw electric power. This device was not static; it had the ability to swivel in several dimensions, which allowed the bus to not negotiate curves and turn corners, but also change lanes, which enabled the buses to make both right and left hand turns. The ability to change lanes also allow the buses to bypass any obstacles in its path, and so the buses had the potential to move very quickly. The interior of the buses were similar to those we have in Phoenix. It seemed to be a very capable system.

At the very least, Vancouver's bus system was cheaper than the Light Rail to build, probably less costly to maintain, was more flexible, and didn't have near the negative impact on traffic that I'm prediting the Light Rail will have. It did the same job our Light Rail system is supossed to do, but it probably cost far less. I don't believe our Light Rail will out perform Vancouver's then-extant bus system. Too bad we didn't buy something similar.

This is my idea of a better way of doing things. If "more expensive" does not out perform "cheaper", I say go with cheaper everytime. It may not be as sexy, or look as pretty, but the money left over will compensate for this.

Thanks for paying attention. I've pretty much exhausted what I have to say about the Light Rail system. My little rant has grown into a big rant. It won't change things. We're still going to get the Light Rail system. But maybe when it comes time to expand it, the powers that be will put in a little more time considering a more optimal solution for our transportation problem.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Light Rail Blues - Query From A Reader

2007-10-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

Recently, one of my loyal readers, Johnny Wraith, in the comments section, asked me a couple of questions that I thought were particularly pertinent to the subject that my series, Light Rail Blues, addresses. Additionally, he made the request that I write a particular type of story. Rather than just post my answers in the comments section of this blog, I decided to make his questions, and my answers, more visible to the general readership.

On Sunday, October 21, 2007, at 7:11 AM, Johnny asked,

"How will the light rail affect the taxi business?" and "If you could earn more by being a light rail operator, would you rather be a light rail operator?" This was his story request: "Please tell us a story about ladies changing their clothes in the back of your cab." Well, at least Johnny knows what he wants!

Here are my responses:

Johnny, you have a asked a couple of very good questions. Unfortunately, right now, I'd have to say that the answer to both is, "I don't know."

As to the first question, there are too many ridership variables to easily quantify the solution.

Here's one example: how many people, who are currently using taxis to get around, will use the light rail instead? Any positive number would tend to decrease taxi revenues.

Here's another: how many people, who are currently using their cars for an entire trip, will take a cab to a light rail stop, use the train to their destination (or to a system system exit point, and use a taxi for the balance of their trip)? A positive number here would tend to increase taxi revenue.

Taken all together, will the net effect of all the possible variables result in increased taxi revenues? Well, we're back to square one: I don't know. I think you'd agreed a simple answer to this question will require significant study and calculation.

My gut feeling, based on how low I predict ridership will be from the start (and for at least a few years) is that the net effect on the cab economy will be negligible overall. This is especially true for me, as especially to me, as I work the whole Valley; the Light Rail corridor is a small segment of my market. However, I do think that those drivers who specialize in serving areas adjacent to the light rail corridor may have to make adjustments.

Would I want to be light rail operator, instead of a cab driver, presuming I could make more money? Hell, I might do it for less money, if the benefits package is favorable. Right now I work about twelve hours a day, six days a week, and any benefits I get are paid for directly out of my pocket. This is because I am an independent contractor, and not an employee. As a light rail operator, I presume I would work a standard forty-hour week, as an employee, with benefits. Yes, I know that the cost of benefits are paid by employees, in the form of a lower gross salary or wage, but after all is said and done, net disposable income is what really counts, as it is what buys a lifestyle.

So, I think johnny's question really becomes, if you could have a better lifestyle as the result of becoming light rail operator, would you make the change? Probably. At least, as a light rail operator, I'd probably work quite a few less hours. And my chances of becoming the victim of an act of senseless, random violence or robbery would probably be substantially smaller. That's got to count for something, wouldn't you say?

As for me writing a story about ladies changing their clothes in the back of my cab? Well, I'm willing to produce such a story, but right now it will have to be fiction. Such an event hasn't taken place in my reality. Yet. But who knows? Maybe with time... be patient. And check back with me on a regular basis. I can't predict when ladies will want to change their clothes in the back of my cab. Or what I will do if it happens!

Thanks for your questions and request, Johnny. I'm glad to see that someone is paying attention.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Light Rail Blues - Part Four

2007-10-18T20:40:00.002-07:00

You know, when I first started this series on the Phoenix Light Rail system, it wasn't supposed to be a series at all. My original intention as for it to be a relatively short rant about how inconvenient the construction of the system was for me, and probably a lot of other people. But, during the writing of that rant, I came to realize that I had a lot more to say about the situation. Naturally, having this forum, I decided to expand upon my little rant, and the result was this series.

Previously, I had promised that here in Part Four of Light Rail Blues, I would describe a system that I think might have been a better option over the current plan. However, I am writing this series as I go along; there was no grand design, no overall plan as to where I would go with it. Therefore, I have granted to myself a certainly flexibility in fulfilling my previous promise, and have decided that in this segment I examine how the Light Rail system might fulfill its promise, at least along a part of the line. My thoughts on a better design will have to wait.

Now look, I'm no expert when it comes to transportation issues. So many of you may think that I'm not really qualified to discuss our Light Rail system in any critical manner. But I am an expert on ME, which means I am qualified to discuss whether or not it will meet my needs, whether or not I would use such a system, and to describe a system that I think would meet my needs. You, too, are probably not an expert on transportation issues. But you, too, are an expert on YOU. Therefore, you, too, are qualified to have an opinion in the matter, even if it differs from that of the experts.

As a cab driver, I've have had the opportunity to discuss the Light Rail system we are getting with literally dozens, maybe hundreds (who the Hell knows, I haven't been keeping records) of my passengers. A fairly large majority of these people have expressed many of the same sentiments that I have written about. Here and there a few of people have told me that they think the Light Rail system will be the greatest thing since sliced bread. Or canned beer. Or readily available porn. Or whatever. However, when I ask those same people to think about the system from the point of view that I have, quite a few of them have come over to my way of thinking, and expressed the same kind of doubts that I have.

You see, once you get past the hype, and really start to examine certain aspects of an issue, it is possible to look at something and decide it won't provide the benefit that it is supposed to, regardless of what the experts say! Everyone has the ability to look at the world around them, and come to some pretty certain conclusions as to how it works, or doesn't, whichever the case, even in the absence of hard numerical data and complicated, rigorous studies. This ability even allows you to make some pretty good predictions about the future, with regards to how the world works. This allows you to open your mind to the possibilities of "what if."

Allow me to give you an example of what I mean. I admit, it's a pretty disgusting example, but it will tend to prove my point. Actually, I think you should just agree with me: you can look at the world around you, think for yourself, and come to reliable conclusions on your own, even in the absence of hard data. If you did this, you could skip the next three paragraphs, to the fourth, which starts with "Welcome back." You could completely ignore my example, and really not miss much. I would recommend that you do this. Right now. Don't read the next section. I'm warning you: my example, although it really makes my point, is gross. Really gross. I mean it. You really would be better off not reading it. Trust me, it's true, and it really, really, makes my point, but you will be a long time getting over the experience. Still with me? Well, here goes...

Did you know that every time you use the toilet, you are flushing away some pretty valuable nutrients? It's true: the waste product of the typical American diet is rich in potential nutritional value. I can prove, through rigorous scientific analysis, that a certain percentage of human waste consists of undigested fats, carbohydrates and proteins, which are the essential components of food. Upon seeing my data, unless you thought I had jiggered said data, you would have to agree that, if properly processed, people could eat poop.

So if I processed human waste, and turned it into food, would you eat it? Do you think others would? I know that your answer to both questions is, "Hell, no!" You know why I know this? It's because, regardless of what the experts say, people won't eat poop!

See, you really can think for yourself, and you really didn't need to look at my "expert data" to do it. You knew the right answer all along. You are qualified to be critical about something, even if you're not an expert on that something.

Welcome back. Either you skipped down to this section, or you just returned from hurling. Either way, allow me to continue, under the assumption that I can be critical of a situation, and, even in the absence of expert data, come up with some valid conclusions. I've shown that you know how to do the same thing, if you're willing to do so.

I want to be open-minded, and re-assert a previous statement of mine: I am in favor of a mass- transit system, if it really will work as advertised. So will the Light Rail really prove to have the benefits that are promised, and actually grow into a system that will move a significant portion of our population from here to there? Maybe. I think that the potential is there, at least along part of the line. So, let's apply a little "what if?" What if the experts are right?

It is presumed by the proponents of the Light Rail system that, once in place, the patterns of civilization will tend to gravitate along the line, which is to say that people will want to live, work, and conduct the business of their lives closer and closer to the line. This probably will happen if the system proves its utility, or people think that it will have utility to them. To be fair to the proponents of the Light Rail system, I actually do think that population density along the line will increase. The evidence?

Well, in Tempe alone, the Light Rail line cuts right through several high-density neighborhoods. Starting on the east, near Arizona State University, the line goes right through the heart of a neighborhood that houses several thousand people, mostly apartment dwellers. Most of these people are students, and live within about a quarter of a mile of the line, so convenient access is certain. Further west, in downtown Tempe, a high-density, 26 story, condominium tower is under construction, virtually across the street from the line. A few blocks further west from this project, within walking distance of the line, several other high-density apartment/condo projects have been completed and are occupied.

Across the river, north and further west, on Washington Street, still in Tempe, even more high-density residential properties have been completed, fronting right on the line. Keep going further west and you will see that downtown Phoenix itself is experiencing tremendous growth in the number of high-density residential properties. I have to believe that, at least along this segment of the line, this trend in residential population density will increase.

Also along the line, the number of high-density commercial properties, such as office buildings, appear to be on the increase, complementing several other high-density properties already in the area, such the headquarters of the Salt River Project.

Along a corridor less than two miles long (Mill Avenue to 48th Street), and a few blocks wide (Salt River to Van Buren Street), probably ten thousand people, or more, already work, with thousands more soon to follow.

And let's not forget the cultural amenities available already in place. Every day, several tens of thousands of people attend Arizona State University, which is right on the line. Access to downtown Tempe, with it's plethora of restaurants, shops, and nightclubs (a virtual Mecca for the party crowd on weekends) is very convenient. In the core of Phoenix, just to mention two venues: Chase Field (formerly Bank One Ballpark, or Bob, a much friendlier name... but don't get me started) and the US Airways Center (formerly America West Arena... but who the Hell cares?) are right on the line. Also easily accessible are numerous nightclubs and other entertainment and cultural venues, such as the Convention Center, the Herberger, Dodge and Orpheum theaters, the Science and Technology Museum (to name a few), as well as several high-density hotel properties. Further north we have the Phoenix Library, Art Museum, Heard Museum, and the whole of the Central Avenue high-rise corridor.

So ridership potential is certainly there, at least along that part of the line (starting at the intersection of Apache Boulevard and Road in Tempe, and ending at the intersection of Central Avenue and Camelback Road in Phoenix). Even people who don't live along the line could certainly commute to a convenient point on the line, and continue their travel to any of a number of destinations along it. However, with all that the Light Rail appears to have going for it, will really use it to any great extent? Well, to be fair and frank, I certainly hope so, if only because some much money and effort has already been expended on its behalf. And because the promise is so tempting.

But... I have my doubts.

As I have stated in a previous segment, people, being people, are creatures of narrow habit. We have gotten into the habit of using our cars to get us from here to there, even if it is not necessarily convenient, or expedient, to do so. Witness the traffic jams on the freeways during rush hour. You and I know darned well that any number of the people in the cars trapped in the jams live on a bus line that can favorably compete with a car, at least as far as transit times and fare costs are concerned, especially where "park and ride" stations are available. But these people still use their cars.

Yes, yes, I did previously describe how I would use the bus, if it was more convenient, but don't do so. Am I being hypocritical? I don't think so. Remember, it was a theoretical example. I do live right on a bus line; the cab company base is on another line; one transfer allows me to get from here to there. But I don't make that commute on any kind of a regular basis. I drive a cab for a living, and my cab is with me, wherever I am, twenty-four hours a day. So I might not make that particular commute for months, maybe years, at a time, and then only then when I am dropping off the cab for an extended period of time, say for a vacation.

And I certainly didn't mean to imply that any great number of people do have a situation where the bus is competitive. But for those who live and work along a freeway corridor, or even along a surface street line with no transfers, the bus can certainly be competitive. But no tremendous numbers of people appear to be taking advantage of it. Is this your situation? If so, are you taking advantage of the bus? If not, why not? Keep in mind, that your reasons are probably not all that different from those of everyone else who shares your situation.

I know that automobiles are an ingrained part of our culture, especially out here West, where we have tended to grow out rather than up. Being able to get in our cars, and go where we want, when we want are huge factors that come into play when it comes to the personal choice of which mode of transportation is likely to be employed in moving from one place to another. But personal choice tends to become a habit, even when circumstances change. The Light Rail system will be a change of circumstance. But will it cause an appreciable change in habit?

Quite a few of you who live, work and play along corridors where the bus is competitive with your car don't use it, whatever the reason. Isn't it fair to assume that the people living along the Light Rail corridor might have the same resistance to using it?

Do you currently do live, work and play along the Light Rail line currently under construction? Will you do so in the future, either along the current line, or any future line? If so, let me ask you a question.

Will you walk from your house, or place of business, or entertainment venue, to a Light Rail station, and wait for the next train? Don't be so quick to answer.

What if it's the middle of Summer, and it's over a hundred degrees outside? Which will you choose?

Car or train?

Sure, it's a rather extreme example. But you're tough. You'll gut it out, for a while at least. But then, maybe, just maybe, you'll go back to your car, at least until it's cooler. But what's cool enough? 90? 95? 85? Okay, let's be brave, and say 90. Anytime the temperature is below 90, you'll wait for the train. If it goes above that, use the car. Seem fair?

So how many days during the year does the temperature rise above 90 degrees? I'll wager that the answer is north of 35 percent. Want to bet against me? How will this play into the habit of using the train? I don't know for sure, but I know that it will have a measurable impact. Thirty-five percent of the time, in my example.

And what about all the other excuses that otherwise reasonable people might have for not using the Light Rail? Will their resolve to use the system prevail? That remains to be seen.

So, "what if" the experts are right? What if a significant number of people really will use the Light Rail system, proving them right and me wrong? Actually, I hope that this is the outcome. You see, the cost isn't much if I am wrong. My pride is damaged, perhaps, and I am out the hours that it has taken me to compose this series. I've been wrong before, and squandered my time in less fruitful ways. It's no great loss to me, or anyone else, for that matter.

But, "what if" the experts are wrong? What of the costs then? Will the system have been worth it?

Just remember: something had to be done!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

PS - I have re-read, and re-written, certain parts of this piece, over and over and over again, and I'm still not completely satisfied with how it turned out. It kind of rambles around, here and there, in ways that I did not expect that it would when I started it. So be it. I am hoping, though, that you will forgive me for my imperfect expression of feelings on a subject about which I am passionate. At least I didn't end the last sentence in a preposition. That's something, isn't it?

Light Rail Blues - Part Three

2007-10-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

In Part One of this series I examined why it was the the Phoenix Metropolitan area came to have a Light Rail system. Part Two examined the flaws in the execution of the Plan. Here in Part Three I wish to demonstrate that I am not opposed to a mass transit system, per se, and would use a good, useful system. (I realize that in Part Two I said I would describe a better system, but decided that would be a fairly large task, so I decided to break into more manageable parts. Here in Part Three I'll define some terms, and describe the circumstances under which I would use a transit system. In the next installment of this series I'll give you some of my ideas for a better system).

First, allow me to explain to you what I perceive to be the differences and similarities between a transit system, a mass transit system, and a rapid transit system.

To me, a transit system consists of one or more modes of transportation combined with a systematic network of routes, enabling a percentage of the population of an area to move around that area, without having to possess or employ their own private means of movement.

Such as system might involve public and private ownership of any part of the system, and/or public or private management of the system. Modes of transportation could include, but not necessarily be limited to, buses, light rail, subways, elevated trains, and even minibuses or vans. A network of routes could include regular, scheduled service along various corridors, available to whomever might show up at a station or stop. But, it could also include ad hoc , point-to-point, service for various-sized, coherent groups that travel in concert at specified times. This last sentence is really just a long-winded description of something we've already heard of: carpools and vanpools.

I was non-specific as to the percentage of the population to be moved. It is conceivable that it could range from a tiny fraction of the population, to a quite sizable majority, depending upon the perceived utility of the system to the population it serves.

Mixed private and public ownership or management of such as system is not a radical idea. Here in the Phoenix area, various governmental agencies own some of the modes of transportation, while some of the management and operation of the system is accomplished by private companies who have contracted to provide such services. Oversight and planning for our system is the purview of committee made up of representatives from the governments of the various municipalities served by the system.

I define mass transit as a system designed to move a significantly large portion of the population, and may even be the primary, or close secondary, method of getting people where they are going. The New York subway is my idea of a mass transit system.

A rapid transit system is clearly what it implies: a way to get people from here to there in a rapid fashion, but excludes personal operation of the mode of movement. Thus, the New York City subway system would qualify as such, because to my understanding, it is probably the quickest way to move around in that city. San Francisco has it's Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) system, which implies that it is relatively speedy. Personal cars and the like are excluded from this definition.

To my way of thinking, how a population, and how much of a population, utilizes any transit system is a function of several factors, including, but not limited to, coverage (does it get me where I want to go?), convenience (can I go pretty much when I want to?), ease of use (are access points within reasonable walking distances?), and value (does the cost compensate me for any lifestyle compromises I might have to make?).

Value is a particular sticking point: it doesn't matter how low the fare is if I don't think the system will serve my needs. For example, I used the bus just two days ago to accomplish a particular task. My personal car was at the taxi base, where I had left it after picking up a cab that I expected to keep on a fairly permanent, 24 hour per day basis. Not wanting to leave my car at the base unattended, I parked the cab at my house, walked about 75 feet to a bus stop, and got on a bus. The trip, which was about twelve miles, took one transfer and about 75 minutes, not counting the initial 20 minute wait for the first bus. I had to walk about half a mile to the taxi base, which took an additional ten minutes. A cab ride would have cost about $24.00 and taken, at most, 15 minutes. On a one time basis, I thought the $1.25 fare was a huge bargain, even at the cost of over an extra hour of my time, which worked out to five times as much time as it would have taken in my car, or by cab.

However, if I had to make that same commute, every day, twice a day, five days a week, for as long as I was employed, if I had another option, such as using my personal automobile, I wouldn't use the bus. In my mind, the extra time expended would far outweigh any money saved over using my car, even after factoring in all the costs of private car ownership.

But let's make some adjustments. Suppose the time could be reduced by, say, 60 percent, making the transit time approximately 30 minutes. Now because a faster system would probably have higher capital and operational costs, let's suppose that the fare was increased by 400 percent, making it five dollars. Now we're entering the realm where it really does make sense to for me use the transit system. The fare would be a total of fifty dollars per week. I'm pretty certain I could recoup that in reduced fuel, maintenance and insurance costs, or at least come pretty close. And now I'd view the time on the bus, or train, or whatever, as a benefit, not a burden: a relatively short time to relax on my way to and from work, rather than a tension filled period of "fighting traffic."

So have I demonstrated that I am in favor of having a useful transit system available, and would use that system if it served my needs? Well, I hope I have. And honestly, I think that many people, certainly not all, or even majority, but a lot, think the way I do. Will a significant population served by the Light Rail system really use it? I don't think so. But I might be wrong. We'll see.

So, the bottom line is that Light Rail is indeed a transit system. But, based on what I said in Part Two, I do not think it can be described as a mass- or rapid-transit system.

What about you? Are you waiting with baited breath for the debut of the train? Or are you, like me, yawning from a lack anticipation?

Next time I'll describe a system that I think might have been a better choice.

Sincerely

The Cab Guy

Light Rail Blues - Part Two

2007-10-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

In "Light Rail Blues - Part 1" I examined the genesis of our now under construction light rail system here in the Phoenix Metro area. But here's a brief recap anyway, just in case you haven't read that article, or in case you have read it, but forgot what I said. By the way, if you did read it, but forgot what I said, there's no need to feel ashamed. I wrote it myself, just twenty-four hours ago, and have already forgotten what I said. Hold on a minute while I go back and read it.

Okay, I'm back. Here's the gist of what I said:

1. A long time ago, Phoenix had a trolley system, the rails being in the streets.
2. Cars became more popular, and started to need more of the street.
3. Something had to be done.
4. The trolley was perceived to be irrelevant and inconvenient, and was removed.
5. The streets became clogged with cars, and travel became impeded.
6. Something had to be done.
7. A freeway system was built. It soon became clogged.
8. Something had to be done.
9. New freeway funding was authorized, but light rail had to be built.

Here is my description of the light rail system, the result of the most recent assertion that something had to be done.

"Our light rail system is being built at grade level. In the middle of the street. Along currently existing bus lines. Where traffic is already crowded."

So let's examine what all of this means to us, the citizens of our fair Metropolis.

First of all, grade level is commonly meant to mean "on the surface." So a light rail system at grade level, in the middle of the street, will obviously take up room that was previously occupied by automotive traffic. In most places, the streets are not being widened to any appreciable degree, so there will be less room for cars. Less room can also be translated into "slower speeds." The light rail trains will also have to move at slower speeds. Which is not much of an inducement to get people who wanted to get there five minutes ago to get on the train.

The design of the light rail system, being that it is in the middle of the street will have other effects that will impede traffic. Moving a car from one side of the street will become problematic. Where previous medians allowed crossovers to occur perhaps every block or so, the barriers separating the light rail from the cars will generally increase distances between crossovers, to as much as half a mile in some places.

Not very convenient, is it? But, keep in mind, something had to be done.

Now, although I commented that the light rail is being along currently existing bus lines, I must apologize if I have given you the impression that I consider this to be a design flaw or defect in the system. I don't. To me, it makes sense to build transportation systems along already existing traffic corridors, as these are the very corridors that people are already using. We already know that people along these corridors want to get from wherever they are to wherever they want to go.

But will people eschew the bus, and hop on the train? And more importantly, will people along the corridor who are not already using the bus get on the train?

Well, that all depends on certain factors. If the buses are left in place, maybe current users will remain on the bus, especially if there is a fare differential. Also, people, many times being creatures of narrow habit, have a tendency to continue to use something that works, unless the new thing is clearly superior, and provides additional desired benefits.

Yes, I know that many of you may wish to argue with me on this point, citing how fast many people trade in their cars, or buy new computers, or cells phones, etc., using this as evidence that I am wrong about people resisting the adoption of a new system, and therefore argue that people will drop-kick the bus and hop on the train.

However, keep in mind that "superior" and "additional benefits" are subjective. I think we all know someone who traded a three year old car with fifty thousand miles, for this year's model, because to them, "subjectively", a car with fewer miles and more cup holders, is "superior" and provides "greater benefits" such as "enhanced reliability." But let's be objectively honest: a new car is really no more reliable than a well maintained three year old. Let the odometer turn 100K, and then we'll talk.

So, I still think a lot of people will stay on the bus.

But what about the people not currently using the bus. Will they get on the train? Talk to anyone who tells you they will use the train. Ask them why they aren't currently using the bus. Whatever excuse they use to justify not using the bus, ask them how the train will be different as to that aspect. Show them why they are wrong. Then laugh at them, on the inside, mind you, as they start to squirm.

Here's an example of such an exchange:

Q: "Why don't you ride the bus?"

A: "It doesn't go where I want to go."

Q: "But doesn't the train follow existing bus routes?"

A: "Well, yes, I guess so, but..."

Q: "Why else?"

A: "It's so inconvenient, I'll have to walk to a stop, and wait for it to come."

Q: "Won't you have to do the same for the train?"

A: "Well, yes, I guess so, but..."

Q: "Why else?"

A: "It takes so long to get where I want to go."

Q: "But won't the train move only as fast as the bus?"

A: "Well, yes, I guess so, but..."

Q: "Why else?"

A: "Well, I don't like associating with the kind of people who ride the bus."

Q: "Doesn't this make you an elitist, possibly racist, person?"

A: "Well, yes, I guess so, but..."

Try it out yourself. It's fun.

But people will still claim that light rail is good, because something had to be done.

As for traffic crowding, well, do you really think that, given people's fascination with cars, light rail will take enough cars off the street to appreciably change this? I don't.

But what the heck, isn't it true that something had to be done?

Sure, but was this the right way to go about doing something? In part three, I'll give you my opinion as to what might have been a better way to accomplish that something.

But keep in mind, opinions are like armpits. Everyone's got a couple, and they usually stink.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Light Rail Blues - Part One

2007-10-15T19:38:00.000-07:00

As a professional cab driver, I am really starting to become revolted by the traffic hassles being caused by the construction of a light rail system here in the Phoenix Metro area. As near I can tell, even when the first line of the system is completed, the situation will not improve to any great degree. Allow me to explain.

A long time ago, when the earth was green and the air was fresh, which is to say prior to World War II, Phoenix had a trolley system in the downtown area, with some extensions into what were then the suburbs. It was no technological wonder by any means, but it worked well at doing what it was designed to do: moving people from here to there in a relatively efficient and convenient manner. The tracks ran down the middle of various city streets, but were not much of an impediment to other street traffic, mostly because cars were not as widely common as they are today.

As our country in general, and Phoenix in particular, became more affluent, personal automobiles became more and more common, even for those in the lower socio-economic classes. So more and more and more people came to own more and more cars, competing for space on the city streets. But even though there were more and more people and more and more cars, there wasn't more and space on the city streets. For a while, this wasn't a problem, so nobody thought that something had to be done.

Over time, as the population of our fair city increased, so to did the population of automobiles. People, being people, are generally not content to stay where they are. They want to go places. And people, being people, are generally not content to be patient about getting to wherever it is they want to go. They want to leave now, and get there five minutes ago. I don't know why they wanted to be there five minutes ago. Surely nobody else would be there yet; they were probably stuck in traffic. So they'd just have to stand around and wait for everybody else to get there. But that's want they wanted.

Now cars, being cars, are more than happy to fulfill the function for which they have been designed, which is of course to move people from here to there. Right now. If properly cared for, they are more than willing to drop whatever it is that they do when they are not moving, and take their owners to wherever it is that their owners want to go. Right now. Of course, being cars and not time machines, they cannot get there five minutes ago. But, cars understand their shortcomings, and do not fret over the time concerns of their owners.

The natural result of all the people going places, and all the cars taking them there, was that our city streets became more and more crowded. The situation became intolerable. Something had to be done.

What was done was the trolley system was removed. I do not know exactly where this occured, but I'm pretty sure that the last trolley bell was rung in Phoenix over fifty years ago.

But of course, the population of both people and cars increased. Traffic became more and crowded. All the space created by the removal of the trolley was used up. People did not want to drive less; they wanted to drive more. They wanted to go now. And get there five minutes ago. Something had to be done.

So, about twenty years ago, or so, a comprehensive freeway system began to be built in the Metro area. Today, most places in the Phoenix Metro area are within just a few miles of a freeway on ramp. But of course, at the same time that more and more freeway miles were built, the population, people and cars, increased. More and more. And more. And then, of course, some more.

The freeways were becoming more and more crowded. But the sales tax enacted by a vote of the people, enabling the freeways to be built, expired. But people wanted more freeways. Something had to be done.

What was done was that additional funding was approved. But it came with a couple of caveats. The bus system was to be expanded. And a light rail system was to be built.

Now, I have written a brief thumbnail sketch of the situation, and to be fair, I may have gotten some of the facts wrong. But, as I understand it, the essence was that if people wanted more freeways, they would also have to have light rail.

I am not opposed to mass transit. I am also not opposed to light rail. I'm all for it. In theory. To be sure, I would much prefer a rapid transit system. But we are not getting "rapid transit." We are getting "light rail."

Our light rail system is being built at grade level. In the middle of the street. Along currently exisiting bus lines. Where traffic is already crowded.

But, something had to be done.
Will this being an improvement to our current traffic woes? I'll examine this issue in my next installment.

Meanwhile, try to increase your store of patience. Upgrade the sound system in your car, and buy more CDs. With longer songs. Maybe get some books on tape. Try walking short distances, or getting a bicycle.

Here's an idea, self-serving as it may be: call a cab. I'm all for that.

But don't imagine that travel times are going to get shorter any time soon.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

The Busy Season Begins...

2007-10-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are deep into October, which is supposed to be the first full month of Fall. However, here in Arizona, most days are still warm, so that it really feels like an Indian Summer. Don't get me wrong, I have no complaints about the weather, especially this time of year. I think that it is beautiful at this time of year, but not for the reasons that most people think.

You see, the cab business, like a lot of other businesses, I guess, has its slow and busy seasons. For reasons I can't truly comprehend, things really seem to slow down during the summer months. Okay, you caught me. I'm lying about my lack of comprehension. I know why the cab business slows down in Phoenix during the summer. It's just so frisking hot! No sane person who has a choice in the matter voluntarily comes to Phoenix after about May 15, or much before about October 1. Unless they just can't afford a sauna back home.

Now me, I've lived in Phoenix for over thirty-five years, and I have gotten completely used to the heat. I didn't say that I liked the heat, I just said that I've gotten used to it. I have my little methods of adjustment and compensation. I drink plenty of fluids. I stay indoors as much as possible. I run my car air-conditioner at all times, and keep a very careful watch on the maintenance of that handy little device. I fantasize about places that are much cooler, such as Hell, and the sunward side of the planet Mercury. But mostly I just keep a running commentary in my head, which consists of but a single sentence running over and over and over: "Remember... it's a dry heat!"

So why do I think that Phoenix is beautiful at this time of the year, if not for the weather? The fact that other people think that the weather in Phoenix is beautiful at this time of year. Yes indeed, the cooler it gets in other parts of the country, the more visitors our fair city gets. Some people drive here, but most visitors arrive in our town via the airport. To get out of the airport, quite of few of these visitors take a cab. Now, I don't work at the airport, the reasons for which I won't go into here. But anyone leaving the airport in a cab didn't rent a car, so that means, to get around, for the most part, they're either going to ride the city bus, or call for a cab.

When was the last time you visited a city not your own and relied on the city bus system to get around? Maybe that's not a bad plan in other large cities with well developed public transit systems, but here in Phoenix, it's not only a bad plan, but an extremely bad plan. Unless you have a lot of time to spend waiting for the bus, and can stomach the thought of sitting next to whomever you might run into on the bus, or just plain love torturing yourself trying to figure out the schedule, taking a cab is a superior alternative. Unless you don't have a lot of money, in which case you just need to wait for the bus. Deadbeat!

So the winter visitors are starting to flood into our town, the cab company I work for is getting a flood of calls, and money is starting to flood into my wallet.

Don't you just love the way I managed to use the word 'flood' three times in a story about Phoenix, Arizona, one of the driest cities in the world? And all in one sentence, no less! No? Tough... I already wrote it, you already read it, so there's nothing that can be done about it.

But seriously... Welcome to Phoenix... stay a while... see the sights... take a cab ride or two... have a wonderful time! And, if you've been given good service, please tip your driver...

But if he's a surly son of a gun who won't even lift your luggage, feel free to stiff him. You have my permission.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Brain Farts and Dirty Jokes

2007-10-06T09:48:00.000-07:00

Well, hello everyone, so glad you were able to make it to this end of the internet. Here we are in the early part of October. The summer heat finally seems to have abated for another few months. We’ve had a little rain since I last took pen to paper, or should I say, fingers to keyboard. The cab business has been a little slow lately, so I don’t have any actual “Taxi Tales” for this edition. However, I have accumulated quite a few random thoughts that I would like to share with you, as well as a couple of my favorite jokes. So go ahead and sit back and relax while I share my…

Brain Farts and Dirty Jokes

Seems fair to me! - The other day I was reflecting upon the various differences between men and women. For example, some women will put up with sex, so that they can have some cuddling, while many men put up with cuddling, so they can have some sex. If necessary, I’ll tell a woman that I’ll cuddle with her if she’ll have sex with me. Hell, why wouldn’t I make such a promise? I’m just going to fall asleep when we’re done, anyway!

The late night gourmet - Why do so many fast food joints advertise on late night television? If I see a commercial for Wendy’s at midnight, I’m not leaving my house for a burger, regardless of the fact that “Wendy’s rules the night!” If I’m that frickin’ hungry that I just have to have something to eat, I’m going to improvise. Let’s see what’s in my cupboard: ramen noodles, ketchup and allspice. Spaghetti sounds good to me!

Some funny names – I used to work in a government office, and to alleviate to occasional boredom, I would create phony phone messages for my co-workers, using those little “While you were out” forms. These are some of my favorite funny names: Dick Gozinya, Ben Dover, Heywood Yablome, Harry Areola, Phil McKraken, and Seymore Butz. Some of you may find these names to be offensive, and may wish to sue me. That’s okay, just send service to my lawyers: Dewey, Cheatem and Howe.

I have my standards! – Some men will make love to any woman, no matter how repulsive she may be. (Of course, the sme thing might be true for women, with respect to men. But I'm a man, so this is from my point of view.) Now, with all due respect to women everywhere, I have to draw the line at “hideous” and “titanic.” I understand that with my high standards, I’m not going to get laid as often as I could. But what the hell, like the sign says at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, “Quality Beats Quantity Every Time!” I have to agree, because I remember every woman I have ever made love to, and the way I look at it, if I’m going to be creating a memory, I want it to be a good one!

Why prostitution should be legal – Now, I know that a lot of people are going to disagree with me, some violently so, but I’m going to declare here and now that I think that prostitution should be legal everywhere in America, not just most parts of Nevada. I know that a lot of folks think prostitution should be illegal, because to them it demeans both the women involved, and their customers. Come on, think about it! Working for minimum wage at the Burger Barn isn’t demeaning? Not all women have the opportunity to go to college and get a really great, high paying job. Swing shift manager at the local eatery may be as far up the ladder as a lot of women can get. That may be fine for some, maybe a lot, of women, but options should be available. Oddly enough, in a lot of places where prostitution is illegal, you can hire a woman to perform sex in exchange for money. As long as you’ve got a camera, lighting, and cheesy music. Remember, it’s a performance!

That time of the month – When a woman won’t have sex with me, because she’s near her period, I figure she has PMS, which means I will have to Pleasure My Self!

Filthy language – I think that some people use way too many curse words, such as “fuck” and “shit” in their everyday speech. What the fuck is up with that shit?

Fast food blues – The other day I went into a local fast food restaurant. You know, it’s bad enough that I have to put up with a cold hamburger and limp fries, but I really hate it when I get surly service. Sometimes I feel like yelling at the counterperson, “Hey asshole, you really think I want to be here, either?”

Sexual frenzy – Do you ever smoke after sex? I don’t. I’m usually done long before friction can develop enough heat for fire to be factor to contend with.

Say what? - The other night I was sitting at the bar at my favorite watering hole, drinking my usual club soda. Two women were seated a couple of stools down. At one point, the juke box was changing songs, and during the lull in the music, I overheard one lady say to the other, “Well, that’s just titty bar economics!” I don’t know about you, but I would purely love to have heard the rest of that conversation.

Come again? – That same night, during another lull in the music, I heard one guy talking to another guy about a woman he’d just met, saying, “I’d like to fill her out like an application!” I’m pretty sure they weren’t talking about job opportunities.

What do Popsicles and Politics have in common? – The answer to this riddle is, “Ben and Jerry’s All Natural Ice Cream.” Just in case you haven’t heard, these two aging hippies sell ice cream. And I’ll admit that it’s really good ice cream. But I really don’t need a lecture every time I want to have a cool refreshing snack on a stick. Here’s the best example of wasted ink on the label of an ice cream bar I’ve seen in recent days:

“We oppose Recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone. The family farmers who supply our milk and cream pledge not to treat their cows with rGBH. The FDA has said no significant difference has been shown and no test can now distinguish between milk from rGBH treated and untreated cows. Not all of the suppliers of our other ingredients can promise that the milk they use comes from untreated cows.” (This appeared on the side of a ‘Vanilla Peace Pop.)

What in the hell are these two Hippie Capitalists trying to say? It sort of sounds like they oppose rBGH, whatever the hell that is, enough that they feel that have to make a statement against rBGH, and want you the consumer to know that they want to protect you against this scourge.

Okay, fine. Allow me to retort. Hey, Ben and Jerry, listen up! If you think rBGH is something that I should not consume, don’t just tell me that you oppose it. Keep it out of your friggin’ ice cream. If it’s bad shit, I want no part of it! If you think it’s so freakin’ important that I don’t eat rBGH milk, then DEMAND that your suppliers pledge not to use rBGH, and hold them to their pledges! Don’t tell me about how you would like to be virtuous. Show me that you are virtuous. Or shut the hell up. Maybe next time I’ll just get Hagen-Daz!

Okay, I promised you some dirty jokes, and here they are. Mind you, I did not write these jokes, I read them in Drew Carey’s Book, “Dirty Jokes and Beer - Stories of the Unrefined,” which, by the way, is a very funny book. Drew says that he didn’t make these jokes up, so I guess it’s all right to repeat them here. The titles are mine.

What a Pair! – A woman is at a bar, drinking and depressed. A man walks in and sits next to her. He, too, is drinking and depressed. After a time, the man asks the woman, What are you so depressed about?” She says, “My husband left me because he thought I was too kinky.” He says, “Really? My wife left me because she thought that I was too kinky!"

They order another drink, and she says to him, “Hey, listen we’re both adults here, and it looks like we may have a little something in common… whaddya say we go back to my place and see what happens? ”He says, “Sounds like a great idea!” And they finish their drinks and leave.

When they get to her place, she says to him, “Wait right here, I’m going to change into something a little more comfortable.” She goes to her bedroom and puts on some black leather boots with six-inch heels, a leather miniskirt, a rubber bra with the nipples cut out, a dog collar and a leather hood. She then grabs a riding crop and some handcuffs and saunters seductively out to the living room where she sees the guy putting on his coat and hat and heading out the door.

“Where ya going?” she asks. “I thought we were going to get kinky!”

“Hey,” he says, “I fucked your dog, I shit in your purse… I’m outta here!”

Oops! - There’s a guy who lives in Ohio. One morning, he hears a voice in his head. The voice says,

“Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.”

He ignores the voice. Later in the day, he hears the voice again.

“Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.”

Again, he ignores the voice. Soon he hears the voice every minute of the day.

“Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas.”

He can’t take it anymore. He believes the voice. He quits his job, takes all of his money, and flies to Las Vegas. As soon as he steps off the plane, the voice says,

Go to Caesar’s Palace.”

He goes to Caesar’s Palace. The voice says,

“Make your way to the roulette table.

He goes to the roulette table. The voice says,

Put all your money on red 23.”

He puts all his money on red 23. The dealer spins the wheel. It comes up black 17.

The voice says, “Fuck.”

Okay, well that’s all there is this time around. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I appreciate having this opportunity to relieve a little of the pressure that’s been building up inside my skull.

Until we meet again…

(A version of this work first appeared in the October 16, 2003 edition of "Fast Lane Magazine" a bi-weekly, Phoenix area entertainment magazine, under the byline of "Matt 'The Cab Guy' Kelly").

The Hooker, The Horndog, and The Hamburger

2007-10-04T14:19:00.001-07:00

Well, it’s certainly good to see you again, my friends. Thanks for calling. I’d say it’s time for a little fun. Jump in the cab, and let’s go for a ride. This one’s on me.

Now, I don’t know about you, but the summer heat was really beginning to get to me. Actually, it’s not the heat at all, but all the (half) wits that constantly ask, "Is it hot enough for you?”

"I like to have a little fun with these morons, usually saying something like: Actually, I consider these kind of brutal temperatures to be merely a “warm up” for the eternity I will spend in Hell, a fate to be earned for the brutal murder I have decided to commit. I have chosen as my victim the one-thousandth person who asks me that question this summer. Wait a minute! Let me check my scorecard. (I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket, and pretend to consult it.) Yeah, I thought so. I was up to nine hundred, ninety-nine yesterday, and you’re today’s first…

You have my permission to try this yourself. The looks you’ll see are always good for a laugh.

Hey, you might get a kick out of these three short stories. I call this triplet

“The Hooker, the Horndog, and the Hamburger"

The Hooker
You know, I really enjoy being a professional cab driver. Apart from the obvious attractions of the job (like the low pay and long hours), I get to meet all sorts of very interesting people. Why just the other day I met this very charming young lady. She was dressed in not much more than boots, hot pants and belly shirt. I was at the corner of Twenty-Fourth and Van Buren (which if you're not familiar with Phoenix is a notorious "hooker walk"), when she walked up to me and asked if I was in service.
Well, folks, your Cab Guy is always “in service,” so I said, "You bet!”

She hops in the back seat, and I ask her where she’s going. Now, I don’t recall exactly where it was she was going, but I do seem to remember that it was only about two or three miles. She asked how much the fare was going to be. I told her that it would be about five or six dollars. She then inquired if, rather than charging her for the trip, I would take a blowjob instead. Sadly, friends, I had to decline. I told her that I could not accommodate her in that particular fashion. She became indignant, asking,

"Why the Hell not? Listen, you’re telling me that the fare is only five or six dollars. You gotta know that a blowjob is worth twenty!"

"Maybe so,” I say.

“The problem is, I can’t make change for a blowjob!”

So she paid cash. No tip though. Well, that’s a hooker for you! “Loose puss, tight purse," I always say!

The Horndog
Like I said, I meet all kinds of folks. Later that same night I was working in Scottsdale, and this guy flags me down, and gets into my cab. Now, friends, it was obvious that he was drunk, but until he told me so, it was not obvious that he was from out of town. (Not that I discriminate against “out-of-towners.” I do my best to be scrupulously fair, and charge everyone the same. As much as I can!) Anyway, he proceeds to tell me that he is from Chicago, and that he’s just in town for the weekend, on business. Then he asks me to take him to “where the hookers hang out.” Business trip? Funny business, more like it!

Well, of course your Cab Guy is hip. I know all the hot spots, although most visitors to our fair city usually ask me to take them to a nice bar or restaurant, or the closest movie theater. But who am I to judge? As a matter of fact, being a professional driver for hire, I love these kinds of trips. Most guys can’t make up their minds right away, and just like a kid in toy store, they have to look at all the merchandise being offered, before they make up their minds as to what to buy. Many times, this can involve several passes up and down the boulevard before the “purchase order” is placed, if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, the meter is running. And in the cab business, time, most assuredly, is money! So, anyway, I flip the meter on, and off we go.

Now a lot of people like to make conversation during their cab ride, and I am very happy to accommodate them, because, after all, I am first and foremost, a “people person.” This guy was no different, talking about his job and such like, and asking me questions about Arizona and the Phoenix area. Pretty soon we arrived in the part of town where the hookers hang out, and this guy throws me a curve ball, saying that he wants to get out and walk around a bit, that he’d call when he was ready for a ride back to his hotel. Disappointed as I was at the loss of all that “drive time”, I said

“Very good, sir,”

and pulled into a handy parking lot to let him out. As I was about to tell him the fare, all of a sudden, out of the blue, he asks me,

“Hey, Buddy, how much is a blowjob!”

I found this inquiry, and it’s implications, to be somewhat offensive, so I asked him,

“Sir, is it customary in Chicago for cab drivers to blow their customers? I’m curious, because here in Phoenix we usually just pick ‘em up and drop ‘em off.”

He was somewhat taken aback by this, saying,

“Sorry, Buddy, I think you misunderstand me. I mean, how much do the hookers charge?”

“Sir,” I reply, somewhat tersely,

“I believe I understand you perfectly well. I realize that to you I must seem like some nameless, faceless schmo, just a cabbie, a working class grunt, hardly fit to move about in the rarified realms of what you must consider to be polite society. However, I insist upon drawing the line at this implied slur on my character, little of it that I have, and so I must ask you, do I really look like the kind of degenerate who frequents the company of hookers, to the extent that I would have intimate knowledge of the fees they require for their services?"

He appeared stunned, shocked by my response to what he obviously believed to be a routine question, one that could be asked of any taxi driver in any city of the world, with the expectation of the receipt of a simple answer like “Twenty bucks.” He looked at me for several seconds, obviously not knowing what to say.

And then, suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown in his skull, I can see the little light bulb go on. His brain has finally analyzed what I just said to him, and he doesn’t like the obvious implication. So he says,

“H-e-e-e-y-y-y! Are you implying that I’m a degenerate?”

“Sir,” I reply, “I prefer not to make implications when bold statements of fact will do. Suffice it to say that I am not a degenerate. As to your own moral inadequacies, well, that I leave to you. Good day to you, Sir, that will be twenty dollars.”

Oddly enough, he didn’t give much of a tip. And I thought that we had been getting on well together. Some people!

The Hamburger
It was later on that same evening that I realized that we as a society use computers way too much, and it’s making some people dumber. I stopped into a local fast food franchise, intending to procure my evening meal. Now, I don’t want to reveal the name of the chain, but this clown at the drive through window told me that the store was closed; I’d have to go to another location. Being hungry, and a little perturbed by this turn of events, I asked him how this could be so.

“I mean,” I asked, “Aren’t you open twenty-four hours a day?”

“Yes we are, under normal circumstances. But the computers are down.”

So I said, “Now, call me old fashioned, but what in the hell does a computer have to do with cooking up a burger and fries? I’ve always thought that you just had someone throw the meat on the grill, and stand by to turn it when each side was done.”

“Actually, Sir,” he said, “We don’t actually use the computer to cook the burger."

I knew I was going to have problems with this guy after hearing him use the word "actually" two times in one sentence.

"But," he continued, "it does run the cash register, which I need in order to make the sale.”

“Let me tell you something, kiddo,”

I say at this point,

“I’ve been ordering the same hamburger for years. It’s been priced at ninety-nine cents, plus tax, for years. Now I know, and you know, and I know you know, and you know I know you know, that the price of the burger, fully loaded, with all the bells and whistles, including license, tax, registration, dealer prep and delivery fees, comes to exactly one dollar and eight cents! So why don't you just cook the damn hamburger, give it to me, I’ll give to the money, and you can write down the sale and enter it later. That way everyone’s happy, or at least I’m happy, and that’s all that really matters, right? Make the freakin’ customer happy, right?"

"‘Cause I gotta tell you, right now I am very unhappy, and you hold the power to end my unhappiness, and bring a little joy in my otherwise bleak existence. Come on! Look at me! I’m driving a cab, for God’s sake! You have to know how much that hamburger means to me! It’s more than just sustenance! Right now, it’s my lifeline to sanity! A reminder that I can have things from a life outside of the inside of this cab! Please, oh God, please, make me a hamburger! I am begging you to show some compassion! Feed me! Feed Me!”

Well, that hamburger man must have been made of titanium, because he just wouldn’t budge. My story had left him unmoved, for nary a teardrop did I see at the corners of his eyes, which weren’t even moist. He watched me abase myself, reducing myself to a quivering lump of jelly, begging for a burger, but still, he would not help me.

Woe was me. Hell, for all I know, it was the computer that had the instructions for making the burger, which would prove my assertion that computers are making us dumber. I drove out of there a broken, hungry, saddened man, filled with the realization that the milk of human kindness just does not flow from some people, but empty of burger.

Sigh. I guess next time I’ll pack a lunch.

Well, friends, I’ve enjoyed our time together. These are all true stories. They actually happened exactly the way I have told them to you. I may have exaggerated just a little, in the interests of poetic license, and all that, but it’s the truth nonetheless. I’ll see you all next time. Please exit on the curb side of the vehicle, and watch your step getting out.

Have a nice day, and so long!

(A version of this post first appeared in the July 10, 2003 edition of "Fast Lane Magazine," a Phoenix, Arizona biweekly entertainment magazine, under the byline of 'Matt "The Cab Guy" Kelly.')

The Last Minute Express

2007-09-25T09:37:00.000-07:00

The other day I had a call to pick up a guy (let’s just call him “John”), in Gilbert, and take him to the airport. I was supposed to be there at 1:00pm, but as the call was sent to me just a few minutes before 1:00, and because I was unfamiliar with his neighborhood, which was a brand new subdivision, and because traffic was rather heavy, I was about fifteen minutes late picking John up.

When I got to his address, he got into my cab and began to berate me for being late, as it was very important that he make his flight. We had to be to the airport by two-fifteen. Since we were about thirty or forty minutes from the airport, I knew that it was going to be a really close call.

I thought to myself,

“You know, only a moron would allow so little time for such an important trip. Even if he was absolutely certain he’d be picked up on time, you’d think that he might have enough imagination to allow for time killers like flat tires and heavy traffic.”

But, rather than saying this him, I said,

“No problem sir, we’ll be to the airport by about two o’clock.”

He visibly relaxed, and off we go.

After a few minutes, John said to me,

“You know, I don’t have my ticket yet, so we need to stop and pick it up.”

Did he just say, ‘I don’t have my ticket yet?’

“Well, where do we have to go to get it?”, I said.

He replies, “Well, he lives at about Fifty Second Street and Van Buren, and because he’s leaving his house soon, we need to be there by a quarter to two.”

Talk about pressure! I was pretty sure I’d get him to the airport by two, but with this side trip, I now had my doubts, because it’s already one twenty-five, and we were still almost twenty miles from Ticket Guy’s house. We were going to have to hit every traffic light green, and go balls to the walls on the freeway to even have a chance. Needless to say, I’m a little worried. You would be, too! But I’m a professional, so I tell the guy that I’d do my best, but I wouldn’t risk a ticket or wreck.

I put the hammer down, and offered to lend him my cell phone to call Ticket Guy to buy a few minutes, but he had his own phone, and sensibly, made the call. Ticket Guy didn’t answer. It figures! Anyway, by driving an average of about ten miles per hour over the speed limit, I got Mr. Leave-It-To-The-Last-Minute to Ticket Guy’s house with about five minutes to spare. Whew, what a relief! Not only was Ticket Guy at home, but John came back to the car with a smile on his face!

So, it’s now about one-forty, and we’re only about ten minutes from the airport. As long as nothing goes wrong, I’m going to get him there with plenty of time to spare.

Now, under normal circumstances, this would pretty much be the end of the story. But, if you’ve read my column for any length of time, you know this isn’t the end of the story. (Can anyone out there guess what is coming next? Yes? No? Maybe? Well, read on.) By the way, I forgot to mention that I had been sucking on a Super-Duper Extra Large size soda for about an hour, and a few minutes after picking John up, I began to feel a slight urge to find a tree. As we left Ticket Guy’s place, that slight urge began to move a little higher up on my list of things to do. Just what I needed at this particular moment in time: more pressure! Anyway, back to our story; where were we? Oh yeah…

So, it’s now about one-forty, and we’re about ten minutes from the airport, plenty of time for John to make his flight. As we pull out on to the road, John says to me,

“You know, airplane food is terrible, and I’m really hungry. Take me to the Jack-In-The-Box drive through.”

Well, why the hell not? It’s only about a mile away, in the opposite direction, is likely to have a seven car wait, but, hell, we’ve got plenty of time to spare, lets go for it! As I turn the car around towards The Jack, I began thinking,

"What’s up with this jag-off? He was practically screaming at me half an hour earlier for being late, but now he’s telling me that there’s nothing more important in his life at this very minute than a freakin’ Jumbo Jack with cheese, which he just has to have before he gets on the plane, which at this point is looking like it’s going to get in the air before the first French fry gets down his cake-hole. What the hell is up with this guy!”

But, ever the Helpy Helperton, I say,

“Jack-In-The-Box it is, sir!”

Luckily, there wasn’t a line at all, but the service was really slow, with a net result of only about ten of his precious minutes being chewed up, much like what he did to two Jumbo Jack’s, and a large fries. It’s now about one-fifty, but we’re still not much more than ten minutes from the airport, so I’m going to have John to the airport at about exactly two o’clock, which is what he said he wanted in the first place. With any luck at all, I’ll be able to put an “X” in the box marked, “Another satisfied customer.”

But wait! There’s more! Mr. “Leave it all to the last minute, fuck-it, I like living on the edge, because it gives me such a rush!” has additional plans that must come to fruition before I can finally drop him at the check-in counter, so he can haul his sorry ass up the jetway and get on that big silver bird. Now, I know what you’re thinking, because I was thinking it, too:

“What the hell else can he possibly need to do, seeing that time, precious time, is so short?”

Well, friends, let me tell you, although it blows my mind to remember it, just as we’re pulling into the airport, John pulls out his cell phone, and calls what sounds like his wife. He talks to her for about a minute, and when we’re about three seconds from turning off onto the ramp leading to the terminal, he tells me there’s going to be another short side trip, because he wants to go give his wife a kiss goodbye! He says to me,

“She works over near Twenty-Fourth Street and University. We can be there and back by two-fifteen, right?”

Can you believe it? I still cringe when I recall the moment…Anyway, I’m thinking,

“Why in the hell should you stop at a kiss! Why not grab the wife AND the kids, get a picnic basket from the nearest deli, head on out to the park and make a fuckin’ day of it. We’ve got plenty of time! The plane, and whatever you we’re going to do when you finally get where you were going, can wait! Let’s live for the moment! How about we go to a strip club, shove some dollars into the G-strings of a few strippers, and really get down! Then, when the excitement of seeing all those naked titties begins to pale, let’s stop and get the cab washed, waxed, and detailed!! And what the hell, while we’re at it, let’s stop and get a hooker, and have her suck some of the tension out of what is by now an extremely tense situation, at least from my point of view.”

And why shouldn’t I be tense? If this guy misses his flight, you and I both know it’s going to be his fault, but I know who he’s going to blame. That’s right, your Cab Guy! He’s not going to consider all the side trips he added on to the trip, he’s just going to think about how I picked him up twenty minutes late. There’s just now way I can win. But what I say is…

“Sure, why not, I’m kind of a romantic at heart, let’s go for it!”

What the hell, the meter’s running, isn’t it? Just as long as he doesn’t ask at the end of the trip if I take credit cards, because it takes a couple of minutes to process the transaction, and I want this guy gone.

So, anyway, we go over to where John’s wife works. When we get there, he calls her out, and they stand there hugging and kissing for a few minutes. I’m starting to get diabetes, the scene was so sweet. They kiss one last time, and as she turns to walk away, John gets back into the car, shuts the door, leans back with a contented look on his face, and sighs. I’m touched. He says,

“Okay, we can go back to the airport now, I’ll still make the plane on time.”

Well, it’s about freakin’ time, because I’ve got to piss like a racehorse. Relief is just a few minutes away. Away we go…

As we pull into the terminal, I say,"Thank you for your business sir. That will be sixty-five dollars.”

And he says, (All together now, with feeling and harmony…)

“Do you take credit cards?”

I almost wet my pants!

Until next we meet…

(A version of this column first appeared in the December 11-24, 2003 edition of "Fast Lane Magazine," a Phoenix, Arizona biweekly entertainment magazine, under the byline of 'Matt "The Cab Guy" Kelly.'

The Gas Can and the Traffic Cop

2007-09-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

Hello again, my good friends. I’m glad that you could come along on this week’s journey. Since we last conversed, not one person has asked me, “Well, is it hot enough for you?” I guess the word got out that I hate this question. But it has been a hot summer so far here in the Metro Phoenix area. Here’s a good survival technique: stay inside as much as possible!

But seriously folks, no matter where you are, drink plenty of fluids, and don’t forget the same for your car’s radiator. As a matter of fact, while we’re talking about it, go ahead and fill up a gallon jug with water, and put it in the trunk of your car, just in case. You never know when you, or the car, are going to need a drink. Nothing beats planning, that’s what I always say. Say, that reminds me of a couple of short little anecdotes.

"The Gas Can"

I think that it’s always a good thing to plan for every contingency, or at least as many as you can think of. However, I know there are people out there who think they are good planners, but in reality, aren’t. I mean, on the surface, it appears they have good planning skills, but when you get right down to it, they really don’t have a clue. Here’s a good example. The other day I was tooling down the freeway when I came upon this car off to the side of the road, with its’ flashers blinking. As I went by, I saw that there was no one in the car. A few seconds later, I came upon a guy walking down the side of the freeway, carrying a little red can. Ah, the mystery is solved! I pulled over, and gave him a ride to the nearest gas station, and didn’t charge him for the effort. He thanked me, and I went on my way, as I had to pick someone up few minutes later.

As I drove away, I got to thinking about this fellow’s lack of ability in the effective planning department. Of course, some of you have figured out what’s going on, and agree with me: the guy was a poor planner. And I know that some of you reading this right now are saying, “Lack of planning? Cab Guy, the dude was obviously a planner! He had a gas can in the car, just in case he ran out of gas! If that’s not planning, tell me what is, smart guy!” Well, to you folks I say, yeah, you’re right, the guy was a planner. But what he planned to do was run out of gas!

That’s right, he planned to run out of gas. Why else would he have a little red gas can in his trunk? I mean, it’s not the same thing as having jumper cables in the car, just in case your battery goes dead. Most of the time that you need your jumper cables, your battery went dead without any warning whatsoever. But when was the last time your gas tank went empty with no warning whatsoever? It just doesn’t happen.

Now, a few years ago, a buddy of mine had a car that gave audible warnings for various conditions his car was in. For example, if he left his lights on after turning off the engine, a little voice would say, “Lights are on!” My friend would then turn his lights off. Anyway, I was thinking, for those people who carry the little red gas can in the trunk, what they really need is this sort of audible warning system, because it’s obvious they either:

a) pay absolutely no attention to the gas gauge; b) don’t believe it anyway, or:
c) pay attention to the gauge, know it is correct, but believe that the truth doesn’t apply to them in this particular situation. (Oh yes, there are indeed people who have just such a warped sense of reality!)

So Detroit, give these people a little help, and put an audible gas warning in cars. Here are my suggestions for the warning statements:

1. “You have less than a quarter of a tank of gas remaining. Might I suggest you fill up soon?”
2. “Your fuel situation is getting critical. You have two gallons of gas remaining. Please stop for gas in the next few minutes.”
3. “Hey, buddy. I’m working off fumes. How about we get some gas? Now!”
4. “Uh, dude, I hope you have got on some comfortable shoes, ‘cause you’ll be walkin’ real soon!”
5. (As the car comes to a juddering halt.) “Okay, I tried to warn you, but no, you wouldn’t listen! You figured you could stretch it just a few more miles. Well, screw you, Einstein! I’m empty! Get out, and start walking! And take that stupid little red can with you, moron!”

You know, I’m not really sure this would cure the problem of people running out of gas, now that I think about it. Considering that most of today’s cars not only have the gas gauge, and a light that comes on when you’re low on gas, but quite a few cars come with “Distance to Empty” displays, and people still manage to run out of gas! It’s nice to know that technology doesn’t change some things. Like stupidity.

"The Traffic Cop"

Speaking of planning, I really think that all of you reading this should have a plan for what to say when a cop stops you. I really do, because, eventually, almost everyone will be pulled over for one reason or another. If you haven’t had the experience, don’t worry, you probably will. Here are a few ideas that I’ve come up with, to help break the ice at that awkward moment that occurs when a police officer taps on your window. If you play things right, you can turn an otherwise unpleasant experience into a worthwhile personal encounter, and have some harmless chuckles. And maybe a visit to the local Greybar Hotel.

Now, call me a psychic, or maybe a cynic, but I predict that the first thing the nice police officer will say will be something like, “May I see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance, please?” I suggest you politely say, “Why certainly officer, I have them right here!” And then hand over the requested documents. It is extremely important at this point to be polite and cooperative, but say nothing else until the cop says something to you. This allows some tension to build, and gives more impact to your response to the next question, which is sure to be (all together now), "Do you know why I stopped you?” Here is where you get to have a little harmless fun at the officer’s expense. Pick the response that most closely matches your own personal situation, and have at it!

Cop: “Do you know why I stopped you?”

What to say if you are a/an:

Hot Chick: “Hoping to get lucky?”
Bakery Truck Driver: “Running low on doughnuts?”
Schizophrenic: “Yes I do. No I don’t!”
Musician: “No, but if you hum a few bars, I think I can pick it up.”
Secret Agent: “Yes. But if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”
Ignoramus (Politically Correct version of “Retard”): “Uhh… I dunno.”
Apathetic Loser: “I don’t care.”
Off-Duty Police Officer: “Will you quit screwing around, Bob?”
Efficiency Expert: “No, but I have a check-list if that will help speed things along.”
Private Detective: “I haven’t got a clue.”
Clint Eastwood Fan: “Do you feel lucky, punk?”
Elvis Pressley fan: “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog!”
Comedian: “The same reason a dog licks his balls?”
Taxi Driver: “You’re lost, and you need directions to Dunkin’ Donuts?”
Lawyer: “Objection! Calls for speculation on facts not in evidence!”
Buddhist Monk: “You seek the path of true enlightenment?”
Priest: “You want an impromptu confession?”
Dog: “Same reason I lick my nuts?”
Black man: “Racial profiling?”
White man: “Beats me. I’m white!”

The look on the officer’s face should provide you with plenty of laughs, making the hours you spend waiting to make bail go by so much quicker!

Until we meet again...

(A version of this column first appeared in the July 24, 2003 edition of "Fast Lane Magazine," a Phoenix, Arizona biweekly entertainment magazine, under the byline of 'Matt "The Cab Guy" Kelly.')

Rico Suave Makes a Booty Call

2007-09-07T23:58:00.000-07:00

Pay close attention, this story has a moral!

One night, a few months ago, I picked up four guys at a bar in Old Town Scottsdale. They all piled into the cab, and although I asked, they did not immediately tell me where they were going. It was about two in the A.M., but I could see that sleep was the last thing on their minds, except for one young man, who kept saying,

“I have to be up at nine forty-five in the morning!”

The others kept saying things to him like,

“Dude, come on over, we got more booze at home, and women are coming over!”

Sleepy Head finally acquiesced, so one of his buddies finally gave me a destination, telling me to go to the area of Thirty-Second Street, north of Camelback Road. On the way over there, while Sleepy Head is noticeably absent from the conversation, all I keep hearing is the other three guys talking about booze and women, women and booze. This is a scenario that I am somewhat familiar with, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: these guys will certainly have plenty of booze, but probably not enough women. If any.

Anyway, we get to their destination, and the three party animals start to pile out, going through the old “who has got what cash to pay the cabbie” act. You know what I mean. If you think about four friends at Denny’s when the check comes, but with far less organization, you’ll have a good idea of what I am talking about. Anyway, they give me fifteen dollars for a thirteen dollar fare, which is not bad for a ten minute trip at two in the morning. I say “Thank you,” and am about to pull away when I notice that Mr. I’ve-Got-To-Get-Up-Early-In-The-Morning is still in the back of the cab. His friends keep saying,

“Come on, Dude, we got booze and women, women and booze!!”

But they can’t convince him to stay with them. He tells me to take him back to Hayden and Indian School, because he wants to go home. Great, I’m thinking, back-to-back fifteen dollar fares! I must be living right. Good times!

Now, just as soon as we get out of the sight of his friends, he’s on his cell phone, talking to some chick. He keeps saying things like,

"Come on baby, I’m in a cab, I’ll be right over!”

Finally she must have agreed to his little late night rendezvous, because I hear him ask her,

“Where do you live again?… Fifty-sixth Street and Camelback… what’s the directions… okay… okay… uh,hmm… I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Now, we’re southbound on Thirty-Second Street, already past Camelback Road, but I’m on the job. I make a quick U-turn, and off we go. He tells me that he needs to stop at the Circle-K on Forty-Fourth Street and Camelback. I figure that he’s gonna hit the ATM, or get some smokes, whatever. I pull into the Circle-K, and he gets out and goes inside. He comes out a couple of minutes later and starts opening what looks to be a pack of cigarettes. No problem, I smoke, so it’s cool. But then, oddly enough, he throws the package in the trash, and shoves something into his pocket. I twig to the fact that it isn’t cigarettes, it rubbers, that he’s just bought. Our Hero is making plans! So anyway, he gets back into the cab, gives me directions to his lady friend’ house, and off we go.

Now, along the way, he tells me that he’ll have to get the money for the cab ride from the girl that he’s going to see, and asks if I would mind waiting. Hell no, I don’t mind waiting, the meter’s gonna still be movin’, and that can’t be anything but good for me. Time is Money! Then he says,

“I guess I must look pretty pathetic. I mean, going over to some girl’s house, and having her pay for the cab ride.”

I disagree with him, partly to be polite, but mostly because I am beginning to think that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than his buddies, because while they’ve got booze and (maybe) women, he’s got a sure thing. Anyway, when we get there, he gets out, goes into the house, comes out a couple of minutes later, and hands me the fare and a pretty good tip. I thank him and say good night, and he turns and starts to walk away. Then he stops, turns around, and walks back to me. When he gets back to the car, he says once again,

“You must really think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”

I look at him for a moment. Then I look at the meter. Then I look at the money in my hand. Finally I look back at him. He’s got a huge shit-eating grin on his face. I start to grin. I say,

“Whatever you say sir. I thank you for your patronage. I hope you have a good night.”

Then I put the car in gear, and get on out of there.

Pathetic? More like a frickin’ genius, if you ask me. I mean, think about it: his buddies buy him drinks all night long; then, over his protests that he just wants to go home, they unwittingly get him to within two or three miles of his girlfriend’s house. As if that isn’t enough, they fall for his lame “I’ve got to get up early tomorrow” story, and let him leave. What they don’t know is that he’s just a phone call away from where the real action is. He then proceeds to set up a booty call, getting the booty to pay for the cab. His total investment for a night of fun and debauchery? About two dollars and change for the rubbers. Do you think he’s pathetic? Come on, this guy is the social-sexual equivalent of that travel book, “How To See Europe On Five Dollars A Day.” Pathetic my ass! Allow me to repeat myself: this guy is a frickin’ genius!

Now, I know all of the people who have just finished reading this story fall into three broad groups. Group One consists of people that realize that there is a moral to the story, and understand it. If you are a member of this group, you are excused from any further reading, as this column is over, as far as you are concerned. Give yourself an “A” for comprehension, but don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back.

Group Two consists of people who don’t realize that there is a moral to this story, don’t care that there is a moral to this story, and certainly wouldn’t understand the moral to the story if it were explained to them in words of two syllables or less. If you are a member of this group, you, too, are excused from any further reading, because, for you, this column is likewise over. Give yourself an “A” for effort, but please, try not to drool so much next time we meet.

Group Three is for everyone who doesn’t fit into either Group One or Group Two. It consists of people who realize that the story has a moral, mostly because just prior to the beginning of the story I said there was a moral, and they remember reading that part. Another characteristic of the people in Group Three is that they don’t know the moral, but would like to know it, if for no other reason than to say that they are “in the loop.” It is to the people of Group Three that I aim my next comments. Please pay attention, you may learn something.

The moral of the story, “Rico Suave Makes a Booty Call” is this: “If your buddies buy you drinks all night long, and your girlfriend pays the cab fare for you to go over and bang her, it doesn’t matter what the cab driver thinks. His opinion doesn’t count. He got his. Now go get yours!” All you people in Group Three ought to thank your lucky stars that you have someone like your faithful Cab Guy to explain things to you

Until we meet again…

(A version of this post first appeared in the November 2, 2003 edition of "Fast Lane Magazine," a Phoenix, Arizona biweekly entertainment magazine, under the byline of 'Matt "The Cab Guy" Kelly.')

Do You Need A Cab?

2007-08-31T00:00:00.005-07:00

If you need to go anywhere in Arizona from the Phoenix Metro area, then call me, Matt "The Cab Guy" Kelly at (602) 488-9508. You may also send me a text message, or contact me thru my email, Supercabbie@gmail.com.

I have over ten years, and 750,000 miles of accident-free experience with the largest and most reputable cab company in Arizona, fully licensed and insured for your protection.

Standard taximeter rates are: $2.50, plus $1.80 per mile, with a traffic delay/wait time of $24.00 per hour.

I am also available for hire by the hour, with unlimited mileage within the Phoenix Metro area for as low as $35.00 per hour, with a four hour minimum (subject to availability).

My minimum fare charge is $15.00.

Blog Dedication

2007-08-31T00:00:00.004-07:00

This blog is dedicated to anyone who has ever seen the TV show "Taxi" or these movies: "Collateral", "Taxi Driver","Chicago Cab Company", and "D.C. Cab."

However, if you saw the movie "Taxi", starring Queen Latifah and Jimmy Fallon, and actually liked it, you can go to Hell! If you bought the DVD, you probably already are in Hell. This is not a slam against QL or JF, both of whom I like, and mostly respect. It's just that this particular movie was an absolute insult to cabbies, and for that matter, cops, everywhere.

Legal Disclaimer

2007-08-31T00:00:00.003-07:00

What you see here on "Road Rage and Taxi Tales" is either opinion, fiction or fact. It doesn't matter which, it's all protected by the First Admendment. Unless it's libelous. Which is pretty hard to prove, so don't even bother trying.

So... if you are offended by anything you see here, who cares? You're an adult, probably, and the way I see it, you came here under your own steam, and can leave the same way. Just hit the "BACK" button on your browser. There it is, up there in the corner.

But if you just can't get over the experience, are revulsed by the degradation and despair you may feel simply from reading a story or two, and simply must sue me for money damages by way of compensation, please be aware that my lawyer is Johnny Wraith.

Johnny is also a writer. As a matter of fact, I think that he's an excellent writer. But as a lawyer he's of absolutely no use to me, whatsoever. This is probably because he's piss-drunk at least half of the time, and at least half-drunk all of the time. Which enhances his writing ability, but degrades his lawerly talents.

You can see my dilemma. But what can I do? He's my best friend, and he doesn't charge me all that much. Just the odd bottle of Chardonnay every once in a while.

So, I'm begging you please, please don't sue me. Losing won't hurt me much, as I don't have much money to begin with, and wouldn't really miss losing what I've got. But Johnny has a pretty fragile ego. Losing a lawsuit would certainly embarrass him, and might destroy what little self-esteem he has left, what with the alcoholism and all. So again, please don't sue me; if not for my sake, then for Johnny's.

By the way, keep this in mind: if you're married, but don't want to be so anymore, then Johnny's the man to help you out. He's an expert in handling divorces, such expertise having been gained by filing countless Petitions for Dissolution Of Marriage. About one-third of which were his own. So throw him a bone. He needs the money to finance the rehab he so desperate needs!

Post Your Own Stories

2007-08-31T00:00:00.002-07:00

Your Cab Guy loves to hear other people's taxi stories, and re-tell them for the delight of as many people as he can. But, in order to do this, I need you to send me your story!

This is not hard to do; simply e-mail it to me at: Supercabbie@gmail.com.

The rules for inclusion of your story into the Cab Files are pretty simple:

It is preferred that all names used in your story, except for your own, or a known public figure, be aliases, especially if other people in your story are depicted in a negative fashion. If you use the name of a public figure in your story, remember that libel laws, though relatively generous in this regard, still apply. If I think your use of the name of a public figure is problematic, I will ask you to change it to provide some cover. Thus, something like "Michael Jordan" might become "A well-known basketball player."
Keep it fairly clean. This is not to say that "swear words" or "adult topics" are forbidden. If a particular word is truly necessary to the story, then go ahead and use it. As to adult themes, just make sure that they are not pornographic. We're all adults here (mostly, I guess) and common sense should prevail. Refer to the "Site Rules" if you need additional clarification.
It's best if you write your story in the first person. I find that, in general, the first-person viewpoint is more engaging, and entertaining, for the reader. If you're not sure of what a "first-person" story is, keep in mind that these sorts of stories generally start out something like this: "There was this one time that I got into a cab in Phoenix..." The "I" indicates a story is being told in the first-person.
Your story can be as long as it needs to be, but should be not be so long that the reader will become bored before the punchline. Use your own judgement. Keep in my that my stories are not always good exemplars of brevity: I'm subject to tremendous bouts of verbal diarrhea.
If you want to repeat a story that appeared elswhere, please include an appropriate citation (such as the name of a magazine, book, newspaper, etc.; the author's name; and the date of publication). Stories found elsewhere on the Internet should be summarized, with a link to the site upon which it appeared.
You grant Road Rage and Taxi Tales, and its owner(s) the right to display it on this site, and to use it, or excerts from it, to advertise or promote this site.

I look forward to reading, and sharing, your stories. Have fun!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

The Rules of Engagement

2007-08-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

I want you to have fun here, but please follow these simple rules, which apply to comments as well as prospective postings you may send to me.

Profanity, if used, should be artistic, and not gratuitous. You know the f***ing difference, damn it!

If you disagree with someone, do not attack them personally, but feel free to argue with what they said. The wise counter the message, while fools kill the messenger.

Racial, ethnic, or identity-based slurs will not be tolerated. An example of this would be to call someone "a dumb cracker." However, if someone's name is "Dumb Cracker", go for it. People like that deserve what they get.

Inappropriate comments will be removed! Whenever a comment is removed, it is my intention to leave notice of its removal. Comments will generally only be removed due to violations of "The Rules of Engagement." Such comments may be restored upon appeal, explaining why you thought there was no violation, or you agree that there was a violation, but that no harm was intended, and an apology directed at anyone who may have been harmed (unfairly insulted, etc.) is attached. Just send me an e-mail at:

Supercabbie@gmail.com

(Please also this use e-mail to send me your postings.)

If you like what you see here, tell all your friends. They may as well waste their time here as anywhere else.

Thank you,

The Cab Guy